Days of Indecision
by Negative Infraction
Summary: Three years have passed since the end of the Maleficarum War and Malefor's defeat at the hands of Spyro, purple dragon and hero of the age, and Cynder, Malefor's previous servant turned heroine. With the Dragon Realms ravaged by war and the Four Nations consolidating their power, it is Spyro's delegated duty to assist in any way he can, whether physical or political.
1. Prologue - Incursion

Most people seem to include a foreword, so I suppose it's in good form to include one as well. I'll be brief. This is my first entrance into the site. I'm somewhat nervous about having something I've invested so much planning, time and care into put up for public display, so I dearly hope it's received well by the rest of you. I sorely pray that you'll see it as on par with the other great Spyro fics out there, such as A New Dawn and The Broken Line.

**Edit:** Due to school and other vagaries a constant update schedule is impossible. I apologise.

I see no reason to include a disclaimer, as I'm sure we're all aware of the trivialities of that. I also apologise for the language, as it uses Australian spelling for certain words rather than US.

Alas, I've indulged my penchant for speech too long already. Let the curtains open wide and the story begin!

* * *

_Three years have passed since the end of the Maleficarum War and Malefor's defeat at the hands of Spyro, purple dragon and hero of the age, and Cynder, Malefor's previous servant turned heroine. With the Dragon Realms ravaged by the war and the Four Nations just barely consolidating their power, it has been Spyro's delegated duty to assist in any way he can, whether physical or political. However, the position takes its toll on Spyro's patience, and he finds himself yearning to be away from the petty bureaucrats of Warfang. Thus, he takes upon himself the task of reconstructing his old home, the Dragon Temple – but events take a sinister turn when a young, fiery dragoness from the Vulcan clan and a shadow dragon with bright orange markings become embroiled in the appearance of someone from the Guardians' past._

_During the turmoil, Spyro and Cynder are forced to confront the nature of their relationship. While the dragoness may have confessed her love three years ago, Spyro has yet to reciprocate her feelings. This silence brings doubts – does Spyro lack the same feelings that Cynder wishes to share with him, or are there other, more complicated reasons behind his inaction? And how can these two damaged individuals repair their fractured friendship while at the same time trying to save the world from itself?_

* * *

Incursion

The streets of Warfang were bustling with people this time of year, akin to ants when viewed from the air. The anthill was abuzz with activity, the criss-crossing grid filled to the brim with a swaying ocean of rainbow colours as dragons, cheetahs and moles of every size, shape and colour moved to and from their homes and workplaces, their friends' homes and their favourite places of leisure. With such a concentrated focus on the next hour of their lives, many residents of the prestigious city often overlooked the scars that persisted from the War. The majority of the damage to the infrastructure of the city-state had been repaired, but every now and then when surveying the skyline one could make out the silhouette of a ruined tower in the distance, blackened bricks still covered in soot.

From such a lofty height, one could see more than a few broken skyscrapers. Those who governed the city may claim that it had recovered from the War, but although Warfang was back on its feet it was in no position to mediate, as was its role. The cloaked figure that currently stood atop a tower overlooking the docks of the city knew the place better than most dragons, even those who had lived within its walls since the first brick had been laid. He had had far too long to explore the city. Far too long.

It was fortunate that he was above the streets and not within them, for among the animalistic population of the Realms he would have been as conspicuous as a candle in the dark. He was humanoid like the cheetahs, but lacked their digitigrade legs and had five de-clawed fingers per hand. His body was obscured by a thick, red-orange cloak trimmed in both maroon and gold, his face covered by a hood that obfuscated his head in pitch-black darkness. His left arm was covered in large, light brown spiked armour, which extended onto his chest partway. His shins and feet were covered in similarly-coloured armour, but the rest of his body was unencumbered. If not for the two, piercing golden points of light that were his pupil-less, almost reptilian eyes, he would have been labelled human.

Those golden eyes gazed out over the bustling city with a coldness that could match the greatest of ice dragons. He was planning. He remained perfectly calm as a small storm of equally-icy snowflakes began to form behind him, forming a human-sized cloud next to the tower spire, before it dispersed to reveal another humanoid. Her body was curvaceous and enticing, but she held herself with sternness that commanded respect. A hood hung over her head, merely obscuring her eyes and hair, and extended down into a v-neck that reached her sternum. In an asymmetrical fashion her right shoulder was bare, in comparison to her left which was covered in a large assortment of black feathers. A thin, silky violet-crimson robe hung down her waist, thighs and shins, and her arms were hidden by a thick leather glove strapped from the mid-forearm down. In her hand was along, gnarled wooden staff, topped by a hanging black lantern. The light in the lantern was doused.

"Do you have nothing better to do than stare out at a city that ignores you, Dyan?" she asked, walking up to his side and resting a hand on his pauldron.

"Is it such blasphemy to relax my mind once in a while, Morrigan?" Dyan countered, lightly brushing away Morrigan's touch. "Everything is under control and on course. Although I had every opportunity to simply leave and forget my responsibilities, I decided to put my leisure time to use and observe my opponents. It pays to be prepared, after all."

"Mm, I doubt you would ever be able to waste your ever so valuable time with me watching you, Dyan," Morrigan mused, laughing softly in her musical tone. "What of your son?"

"He is out hunting," Dyan replied, leaning forward and resting his arms on the railing before him. "He should be done in several hours. I'll be back by then."

"I would hope so," Morrigan replied, moving next to Dyan. "You have procrastinated for long enough. 'Tis time you acted."

"I know. I am ready, he is ready, and I've made the necessary preparations. The only thing we lack is a way to set the stage, although I've heard whispers that may provide an adequate induction."

"Good. Begin as soon as possible. I will contact you again once everything is in motion." Morrigan smiled, snowflakes beginning to appear on the edges of her clothing, floating away calmly. She smiled as she finally noticed what Dyan was so fixated upon – a large gathering of people near the docking piers of Warfang. "Ah, yes. 'Tis the anniversary of the close of the Maleficarum War, no?"

Dyan was unflinching. "Yes."

Morrigan's smile relaxed into a gentle smirk. "Mm, that was a turbulent time. Particularly for you."

"You were there as well. We both know what happened."

Morrigan's smile disappeared almost instantaneously. "Indeed. A pity we missed a first-hand view of the finale."

Dyan laughed deeply, an act that surprised Morrigan. "Finale? That was no finale. It was an epilogue to the greater story, one that those children will never know about, much less witness." He sighed as his mirth disappeared."Ah, Morrigan. We have interfered far too much."

"Quite," Morrigan snapped. The ice that had begun to fall from her clothing had spread to her forearms and legs. "And you should do what you can to limit the effect you have on them."

Dyan was silent for a few moments. The only sound that passed between the two was the soft howling of the wind and the slow crackling of ice. When Dyan spoke again, it was with a tired, strained voice. "This needs to be over. I have invested too much into this place as it is."

"Are you implying that you will not commit yourself to your task, Dyan?" Morrigan interrogated him, a devious smile tugging at her lips. "Are you perhaps not trying?"

"I never said that, Morrigan," Dyan parried. "I would have thought you'd have learnt to listen by now."

"I've learnt to listen far better than you have, Dyan," Morrigan replied, her tone swiftly turning icy – along with the rest of her body, which was now almost completely veiled in falling snow. "Perhaps you should too."

As she was consumed in the cloud of ice and disappeared as it faded away on the wind, Dyan sighed and stood up straight. Gazing out over the docks where people had gathered en-masse once more, he disappeared in a flash as a tongue of flame consumed him, spawning from nowhere, obscuring his body faster than any natural fire. As the flames dispersed, all that was left were cinders and ash, carried away by the wind.

- ҉ -

The backstage wall of the stadium offered perfect protection from the swarm of people that was waiting outside, crying out for entertainment. Spyro watched as the lone drake out on the stage captured the attention of the audience with a skill and charisma that made the purple drake envious. He wished he was as good an orator as he. Spyro was just glad that his speech was over. Now, all he had to worry about was the celebrations after the presentations. He listened studiously to the orator's dialogue.

"…and today marks the anniversary of that triumphant day! Three years to the day was Malefor, the greatest villain to ever lay waste to the Dragon Realms, defeated by the two heroes who we all owe our lives to. Today, we celebrate the lives that were saved by Spyro and Cynder, and take cheer in being alive to see this day!"

_Hmph, at least he's eloquent,_ Spyro thought dismissively, secretly beaming from the praise.

"Are you enjoying all the praise being pandered upon you, Spyro?" emanated the familiar, sparky voice of Volteer from behind him. "You certainly seem to accept it callously."

Spyro chuckled. "Well, I let a bit of it go to my head, but not all. I don't want to stroke my ego too much after all."

Volteer shared in Spyro's laugh. "Ah, but you deserve it! It was you who saved us all. You deserve to live like a king."

Spyro detected the sarcasm in Volteer's tone and kept his smile. "And it's a pity I don't. Instead I'm just a celebrity with a governmental grant for an income as opposed to doing something with my life."

"Ah, don't worry young lad. You're doing just fine with your life as it is. Shall we go meet the others before the festivities begin?"

Spyro grinned at the thought of seeing everyone else. "Alright, let's go."

- ҉ -

Meeting up with the rest of the Guardians as the celebrations broke out was far more pleasant than he had first thought. Three years ago, upon returning to Warfang, Spyro had never imagined that the elderly drakes would have participated in such heavy partying. Warfang had been alight with fireworks and bonfires for several weeks afterwards, and the Guardians had enjoyed their time just as much as Spyro had. It was almost surprising to watch them party with others much younger than themselves, and Spyro found it both amusing and comforting, but every so often he wanted to spend time with people his own age. Even over the three years since the Maleficarum War ended, Spyro had yet to meet anyone his own age whose company he could enjoy.

That was, other than Cynder of course.

Alongside the black dragoness he had made a life for himself in Warfang, serving as an arbiter of sorts for the unruly races and factions of the Realms. It wasn't a pleasant task and it was often thankless, but he found it worthwhile – most of the time. In the small amount of leisure time he had to himself, he and Cynder would often visit downtown Warfang and mingle with the populace, exercising his newfound adolescence in bars and clubs and, occasionally, at the theatre. He kept Cynder out of trouble, and she did the same for him. It was a partnership that kept them safe, yet still allowed them to enjoy their time together, as little as they had. And yet despite their powerful, unbreakable friendship, Spyro felt as though there was an underlying current that created tension and discomfort between them.

But now, wading through a sea of scales, fur and people with her, Spyro had forgotten his troubles in the celebration.

"So are we actually going to stop walking sometime and enjoy ourselves or are you just going to keep leading me along?" Cynder asked sarcastically from behind, barely audible over the shouting and yelling of people. "I'm half expecting you to lead me into a dark alley or something similar."

"I'm not that crass, Cynder," Spyro replied, a grin painting his snout. He quickly apologised to a dragoness he bumped into before continuing. "I'd at least take you to dinner first."

Cynder laughed, but over the sound of the crowd Spyro didn't hear the edginess to her voice. "Of course, I'd expect no less from you."

Navigating through the ocean of people was more difficult than Spyro had first surmised. Along the streets of the Warfang docks, people were huddled together in the thin roads while boats in the water lit torches and lamps to lighten the mood. Several performers of all races had set up stands along the waterline, entertaining passers-by with an assortment of tricks and talents. Fireworks were being launched from the largest ships in the water, and Spyro found himself distracted by the flashing colours and shapes in the sky.

Retreating to a smaller side alley off of the waterline, where less people had gathered, Spyro stopped to catch his breath. Cynder waited for a moment while Spyro enjoyed the relative quiet, smiling. "You're tired? You haven't even been running."

"I'm not so much tired as overwhelmed," Spyro replied, watching as several people walked past them down to the pier. "After our speech, being put on the spot by the Ambassador and the work we've had the past several days, I just wanted a minute or two of silence."

Cynder smiled and waited patiently, saying half-hearted greetings to the people that recognized them as they passed. Spyro was, as always, thankful for her unspoken understanding – things weren't always pleasant when working in the upper echelons of Warfang's society, but Spyro put those thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time to darken his mood with turbulent thoughts.

As it was, he enjoyed the attention he received. People constantly recognized him in the streets – no impossible task, given his scale colour – but after the first several months he had become a fixture of the city, and most had learnt to leave their greetings to a respectful nod or a casual hello rather than singing his praises and causing unneeded attention. He felt loved by the populace, and he did his best to rebuild the city and help the citizens after the War. Many places were still in need of help, but he knew the help he had provided was invaluable to the people.

The only thing he disliked was the rumours. Being constantly in the spotlight of Warfang's major events had its cons, after all, and people often speculated about his relationships with others more than they should. He couldn't even speak with a dragoness of his age without people asking whether or not they were "a thing."

Spyro's thoughts were interrupted when two dragons – one female, one male, both of them slightly older than he and Cynder – approached them. He didn't recognize them, but from their exuberant expressions and awe-filled eyes he could tell they were admirers. "Spyro! Cynder! Enjoying your celebration?" the female asked merrily.

Spyro smiled in return, the pair's joy turning infectious, but Cynder spoke before the purple drake could even open his mouth. "Of course we are. It's nice to have everyone singing our praises."

The pair laughed, sharing their mirth, before continuing. "Ah, yes, I'm sure it is. Granted, you both deserve it," the male commented, draping a wing over his companion. "You're quite the charismatic one Spyro. I'm impressed."

Spyro nodded in embarrassment. "Ah, I tried. I never think I'm that good at speeches, so thank you."

"Don't sell yourself short!" the female encouraged. "Everyone looks up to you. We're not going to turn on you for making some silly pronunciation mistake."

"It sure feels like it," Spyro replied with a chuckle.

"You know, there's something that has been making me wonder," the male drake began, creasing his brow in concentration and flicking his eyes back and forth between Cynder and Spyro. _Oh boy, I know where this is going_, Spyro thought.

"You two have known each other a long time. You've been through a lot together and it's obvious you are _very_ close friends." Spyro noticed the emphasis he put on the word 'very' and forced himself to hold back a sigh. "It's a question everyone's dying to know. Are you two maybe…going out? Romantically?"

The male's partner slapped him in the side with her tail, scolding him for his insolence. Cynder's eyes widened considerably, and Spyro forced himself to feign embarrassment, looking away from Cynder. If dragons could blush, like the mammalian races, he would have been flaring brightly. "Uh," he faltered. "N-no, we've never actually considered that. I haven't, at least."

"Ancestors, I don't know what to say," Cynder picked up, refusing to make eye contact with Spyro. They were used to this, but they might as well put on an act to be polite. "Go out with Spyro? That's a bit…I don't know, far-fetched? I think we've known each other far too long for that to happen. It would just be awkward."

The male smiled awkwardly. "Sorry," he apologised, trying to ignore the chastising of his companion. "I didn't mean to make things awkward. I guess we'll see you around the party then."

As the two strode towards the docks, Spyro finally released his sigh and gazed at Cynder, who was still looking away. "They'll never realise it, will they?"

"No," Cynder replied in an injured tone. "I wish some people would take a hint."

_Ouch,_ Spyro thought.

"Come on, let's head back to the party," Spyro said, ushering Cynder with a wing. "Wouldn't want to miss our own celebration, eh?"

As Cynder followed him, Spyro tried to remove his plaguing thoughts. But even as the pair was engulfed into the sea of people once again, Spyro's mind was firmly planted on the one issue that refused to resolve itself.

Cynder was in love with him. And he had no idea what to do.


	2. Induction - The Task at Hand

The Task At Hand

"What are you doing up there, Spyro?" A voice emanated from below. Spyro ignored it for a moment, setting the last support beam in place and ensuring that it was secure before deigning to respond.

"I'm just making sure the pillar's not going to fall in the next three days," he replied somewhat sarcastically, eliciting a chuckle from the gruff, muscular cheetah below. "It's taken us four months to get this roof up and I'd rather not see all our work to waste just because we couldn't be bothered taking a climb."

"Yeah, but you don't need to worry about climbing. You got wings," the cheetah countered, ticking off something on his clipboard with a nearly-dried quill pen. "It's lunch now anyway, so finish with that and come down for something to eat. Don't want you collapsing from hunger on the job now, do we?"

"Of course not, Purrl." Standing on a wooden scaffold just barely supported by thin wooden beams, Spyro nudged the enormous, thick wooden beam into place before jumping down from the scaffold, rolling as he hit the ground to dampen the impact. He threw up a cloud of dust as he shook the dirt from his scales, inciting "Hey, watch it" from several nearby workers, before leaving the mostly-ruined corner store and joining the rest of the crew out on the street.

The road in question was still open, but partially cordoned off by the construction crew. The building they were reconstructing – a small cornerstore near the corner of a 4-way street that used to be home to a fishmonger – had been a low-priority repair effort after the War had ended. Now that most of the vital infrastructure of the city had been rebuilt, Spyro had turned his attention to the less-important structures and lives that needed to be repaired. The common, self-run businesses were now on the agenda, and Spyro found working with the down-to-earth workers – whom many were neighbours to the owner of the store – was far more fulfilling.

"How much longer do you think we'll be working for?" A younger drake with pale lime scales next to Spyro asked him as he rested on the sidewalk. "For a single shop, this is taking a lot longer than it should be."

"Eh, I say another couple of months," Spyro replied, taking a piece of dried meat from the drake's paws as he passed it to him. He took a bite, shredding the meat into little strips before swallowing without chewing. "We've got the roof up and the first room is ready to be furnished, so all we have to do it rebuild the back living quarters and we should be done."

"Thank the ancestors, I'm tired of this shop," the drake chuckled. "I think I've stared at the left-most back corner more than I have at my girlfriend."

Spyro shared a light-hearted laugh with the younger drake, before focusing on his meal once more. The lunch break continued with some jokes at the overseer's expense, with Spyro maintaining a charismatic conversation with most of the workforce, having grown used to its crew over the past few months.

"Hey, Mister Popular, don't tell me you forgot me!"

Spyro's thoughts were interrupted with a familiar voice, and he smiled broadly as he heard the small buzzing of tiny wings from behind him. Turning around, his snout was assaulted by a fierce embrace from the tiny, golden dragonfly that glowed with a brilliant light, almost blinding Spyro. "Sparx! You're back!"

"Of course I am! You didn't think I'd leave you all alone here, did you?" Sparx replied cheekily, letting go of Spyro's snout. "Someone's got to watch your back, after all."

Only then did Spyro notice the silent figure of Hunter standing beside him, waiting patiently for him to finish their greeting. "Oh, Hunter, I almost didn't see you there. I take it you returned with Sparx?"

Hunter nodded, adjusting the position of his bow, slung over his shoulder. "Yes, and I have to say I'm glad we're back in Warfang. Dragonfly Swamp may be a beautiful place, but I personally prefer the open plains. Everything is far less…sticky."

"It's not that bad, pussy cat," Sparx teased. "I mean, purple brains here lived there for fifteen years before he realised he could spit fire from his mouth."

"Anyway," Spyro interrupted. "What brings you two back so soon? How're mom and dad?"

"They're doing fine. I'm glad the Council of Warfang agreed to send help their way. They sure needed it, what with some of those constructs still lingering around." Sparx sighed melodramatically, as was his way. "Things are pretty banged up over there, but it's improving, slowly. I'm just coming back to Warfang to give a report or something, and mighty hunter here is to make sure I arrived in one piece."

"The War may be over, but there are still many constructs remaining from Malefor's army," Hunter explained, not that Spyro needed explaining. It was more for Sparx's benefit. "Not to mention shadow apes still prowl some of the wilder regions. I think they may be more audacious than when they were whole beings. And not to mention the bandits and outlaws that have hideouts scattered throughout the Realms."

"Next time, let's go by zeppelin," Sparx proclaimed. "You still rebuilding, Spyro?"

"Like always. It's better than trying to mediate between the Ambassadors. You know how they're like, bureaucratic like usual."

Sparx shuddered. "Yeah, well, _I'm_ the one reporting to them, so any sympathy is much appreciated."

"Sorry, I'm all out," Spyro grinned, eliciting a groan from Sparx. Noticing a figure approaching from down the street, standing out from the rest of the crowd by his embellished attire, Spyro's grin quickly morphedinto a frown of contempt. "Speak of the devil, here comes one of their messenger birds."

Sparx and Hunter stood back to allow the messenger – a sophisticated mole in white clothing with a distinct monocle upon his right eye – to approach Spyro, panting from lack of breath. "Ah, my good lord…Spyro. Hah…The noble Ambassador of Vitae requests your presence in her chambers. She wishes to discuss with you matters of utmost importance."

Spyro held back a groan. "Immediately?" he asked. "And only her?"

"Indeed. She advises that you meet with her as soon as is convenient."

"Alright then. Return to her and inform her I will be with her momentarily."

As the little mole ran back the way he came, Spyro sighed. "Great, more politics. I wonder what the Ambassador wants now."

"Probably for you to endorse some random policy of theirs," Sparx commented. "After all, your decisions carry a lot of weight around here."

"Yeah, not really."

Spyro turned, walking back to the construction members who were just beginning to return to work. He quickly found Purrl, overseeing the emplacement of another support beam, and drew his attention. "Purrl, the ambassadors want me again. I'll be back as soon as I'm finished."

Purrl grunted, clapping his hands together to rid them of dust. "Nah, don't worry about it kiddo. They'll probably keep you till dark anyway, so consider yourself done for the day. We can return to work tomorrow if they decide to let you."

"Thank you Purrl. I'll see you later."

Hunter sniffed, adjusting the collar of his robe. "We'd best be going. We do have a report to deliver, remember. The Ambassador of Nubila will be waiting for you, Sparx."

"Yeah, yeah," Sparx dodged, waving his hand to silence Hunter. "You gonna be ok Spyro?"

"I'll be fine," Spyro assured his brother, nuzzling him gently as a form of embrace. "It was good to see you again. We'll catch up sometime later tonight, alright?"

"Of course. See ya around buddy."

- ҉ -

Standing outside the Ambassador's room, Spyro hesitated before entering. The entrance was obscured by a pair of thick, opaque blue curtains that veiled the inside in place of a door, and Spyro couldn't hear a thing from behind the wall of fabric. _Fantastic,_ he thought, knocking on the doorframe. _Let's get this over him._

"Enter, if you wish," a dulcet voice emanated from within the room. Complacent with her machinations, Spyro quickly parted the curtains and entered the Ambassador's office, shivering as a wave of cool air assaulted his body.

The Ambassador's office was an extravagant place, furnished with woven pillows and exquisite curtains along the window. All entrances had been shut tight other than the doorframe, no doubt to ensure that the cool air stemming from an ice crystal in the corner did not go to waste. Resting on a cushion in the corner behind a low table filled with leaflets, papers and inkwells, the Ambassador lifted her head and eyed Spyro momentarily, retaining her stoic disposition even as she recognized who he was.

Reminiscing about his first encounter with her, Spyro admitted that she was pleasing to the eye. Her body was long, sinuous and serpentine – a perfect draconic figure – and her bright azure scales shined with an unmarked light. Her underbelly was a similar, if paler colour, and her large, smooth, fin-like wings were coloured a brilliant shade of silver on the underside. Her neck was long and dextrous, and her icy eyes – though hidden behind a pair of rounded glasses – gave her a foreign air. Along her back was a line of spines connected by thin membranes, and similar fins traced along the back of her forearms and legs. It was easy to see the piscine in her.

"Milady Levis," Spyro greeted, nodding his head respectfully, if more casually than he should have in his own subtle form of insolence. "You requested my presence?"

"Yes, Spyro, I did," she began, putting aside her current paper and rifling through the pile on the other side of her desk. She removed her spectacles and gently set them on the desk, staring at Spyro intently. "Please, sit down. You know I prefer not to involve you in petty disputes, so I assure you this matter is of particular interest to you."

Spyro simply nodded in acknowledgement, taking a seat opposite of her. _Of course you don't,_ he thought sarcastically. _You've never involved me in petty disputes before._

"Now, I know you greatly dislike my political linguistics, so I'll jump straight to the point," Levis continued, pulled a slip of paper from the pile on the side of her desk. She perused it momentarily, before moving on. "This will hook your curiosity, actually. It has to do with your adventures."

"Doesn't everything?" Spyro commented. Levis ignored him.

"It concerns Vitae's research outpost in Concurrent Skies, in Cynder's old lair," Levis explained, handing Spyro a slip of paper that detailed the discoveries of the scientists. Spyro quickly browsed it, but found most of its content unintelligible. "It may have avoided your attention, but after Warfang was operational again and communication had been re-established with most of the Realms, we turned our gaze towards the Convexity Portal in the fortress. Being the first to claim to site as our own-"

"If I may interrupt, it was to my knowledge that Cynder still had ownership of the fortress in Concurrent Skies," Spyro interjected.

"She relinquished control of it several months after you returned, once we made her aware of its potential magical benefits," Levis mentioned curtly, before continuing with her speech. "Being the first to claim it afterwards, we were given most control over its assets – especially the convexity portal located there. However, despite our years of research, we have discovered very little in comparison to the amount of funds required to keep the place running."

"Thus, this is my question to you, as you know the place better than anyone here, other than perhaps Cynder." Levis kept her cool as Spyro's expression turned fierce. "But I am aware of your wish to keep her from our games, and so I have refrained from asking her. As one who has entered the portal, and has seen whatever lies beyond it, what would your advice be for our next move? Should we withdraw our research teams, or should we remain in Concurrent Skies despite this?"

Spyro growled softly, thinking over his response. Convexity, the realm beyond the portal, was a completely unknown place, but given that Malefor had somehow been imprisoned there, Spyro had the suspicion that they should research more of it. He had been a strong advocate of the original research plans, although he had assumed Cynder retained control of the area, but perhaps Levis has some sense in this matter.

"If the evidence presented to you indicates that we cannot learn anything more, then I guess you should pull out your research teams and apply them elsewhere," Spyro presented, handing the report back to Levis. "However, think about this – Malefor was imprisoned beyond that portal somehow. There has to be something important back there. If you're going to abandon the idea, at least leave a group there to watch over the area, either a garrison of Vitaean soldiers or petition for Warfang to leave a detachment there."

Levis was silent for a moment, jotting notes on a blank sheet in front of her with a feather quill. Spyro sat patiently for a time, awaiting Levis' response, but he soon found himself growing restless, fidgeting slightly in frustration. The sound of the quill quickly turned annoying, and he was about to open his mouth to speak when Levis interrupted him. "Thank you for your council, Spyro. I will take your advice into consideration."

And that was that. Spyro knew from experience that that was the extent of Levis' farewell, and he bowed slightly as he stood to leave the room, sighing in gratitude as he opened the curtains and embraced the rush of warm air that struck him. It was _freezing_ in her office.

"Spyro?" Cynder's voice called from down the hallway. Spyro turned and lifted a wing in happy surprise – he had not expected to see Cynder here. Next to her was the steadfast green figure of Terrador, waiting patiently. As Cynder came running down the hall, Spyro held his wings out and embraced Cynder tightly when she ran into him.

"Hey Cynder," he greeted warmly as she hugged him in turn. "I didn't know you'd be here. Aren't you meant to be helping Cyril with some logistical jobs?"

"I was, but Cyril had to leave when he caught news of something or other and now I'm helping Terrador with negotiations, between some students and their families" Cynder explained. "It kinda sucks to be in the council building, but I'll deal. After all, you deal with it every day."

"Wait, negotiations? With students?" Spyro asked quizzically. "What's going on?"

Cynder stuck out her tongue teasingly and broke from Spyro's embrace. "Oh, nothing. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to know what it is."

"Then it's hardly 'nothing', Cynder," Spyro pointed out, earning a gentle whack on the nose for his comment.

"Well either way, you'll have to wait until tomorrow," she reinstated. "So I hope you've got something to do tonight to keep your mind off of it."

"Actually, I do," Spyro beamed triumphantly. "Sparx and Hunter have returned from their expedition, so we'll have time to catch up with them tonight, hopefully with the other Guardians as well."

"Oh ancestors, the little lantern's back in town?" Cynder cried dramatically, mock falling to the floor. "What shall I ever do? I'll be driven insane by his chattering, won't I?"

"He's not that bad."

"True, although that doesn't mean he isn't horribly annoying."

"Calm down, hatchlings," Terrador interrupted, approaching the two adolescents. "You will have plenty of time to chat tonight. Spyro, where were Hunter and Missionary Sparx heading to?"

Spyro rolled his eyes at Terrador's use of Sparx's new title. "No need to be so formal, Terrador. They said they were going to deliver their report to the Ambassador of Nubila."

"I see," Terrador contemplated. "Well, I see that you two are eager to spend time together," the two adolescents felt their cheeks heat up at the comment, hiding their expressions from each other, and Terrador hid a smile. "So I'll let you off for today, Cynder. Go organise an outing with Hunter and Sparx tonight, so you have the rest of the afternoon to yourselves. Enjoy your time, and farewell."

Spyro and Cynder nodded enthusiastically before running down the hallway, headed for the exit while bumping each other with their sides playfully. Terrador smiled at their youthfulness, not for the first time thankful to the Ancestors for preserving their innocence over the War, despite the trauma they endured. It reminded the elderly Guardian of his own adventures in his youth.

"Terrador! Are you busy right now?"

Terrador turned to see Cyril running down another hallway in his direction, panting heavily. "Ah, Cyril, good to see you. No, I'm not particularly busy right now – why?"

Cyril stood in front of Terrador, his head bowed as he caught his breath, before continuing. "Oh, bollocks, I'm not as young as I used to be. I was simply wondering if you could help me with something, namely looking through some records."

"Of course Cyril," Terrador replied, ushering his fellow Guardian down the corridor. "Come, we should make haste. The adolescents will have organised an outing soon and if this is urgent, we should do it before then."

"Indeed," Cyril replied. "I believe I have waited long enough on this matter."


	3. Induction - In Doubt's Shade

Author's Notes:  
There's a lot of world-building in this. I apologise for the spiel, although I hope you find the look into Spyro and Cynder's minds to be interesting.

* * *

In Doubt's Shade

_Spyro's mind felt clouded. His thoughts were amiss, scattered and confusing. It took many moments for the drake to register the stiffness of the stone beneath him, or the heavy thudding sound of the falling rain, or the soft heat radiating onto his scales from another source, and it took even longer for him to garner the energy to open his eyes. Stricken by the lethargy of sleep still, Spyro barely had enough energy to groan in wakefulness. His limbs were burning in pain, his body limp, and he felt as though the very world had sapped every last drop of his energy. He tried to lift his head to look around, but he'd barely passed an inch before the pain grew agonising, and he let his body fall to the ground with a dull thud. Ah, yes, ground. Spyro thought he'd stay there._

"_Spyro?" someone called not far off. Spyro thought he saw a flicker of movement, but with his eyes still blurry and his mind groggy he had difficulty being certain. He thought he might've even imagined his name. "Spyro? Are you awake? Spyro!"_

_When his body was shaken Spyro was forced to acknowledge the figure above him, clad in smooth black scales and sporting crimson red wings. "C-Cynder?"_

"_Oh, dear ancestors, you're awake Spyro," Cynder replied, her voice overflowing with relief. As Spyro's mind began to sharpen, he saw that Cynder's scales were slick with water, glistening in the orange light of a fire not too far away. "Are you ok? Are you hurt?"_

_Spyro groaned again, trying to stand up. "Nngh. Yeah, I think…everywhere hurts."_

_Cynder caught the drake as his legs gave way again, saving him a harsh get-together with the ground. "Whoa, slow down Spyro. You're weak. Don't try and exert yourself."_

_Spyro's mind was swimming with questions. Now that he wasn't as clouded by sleep, he took a moment to examine his surroundings. He and Cynder had taken shelter within a small, box-shaped stone alcove, safe from the pouring rain. Beyond the alcove was a small opening, surrounded on all sides by large faces of rock, with the only exit being an opening into a small, tight canyon ringed by twisted knots of vines. A small fire burned not too far away, safe in the dry embrace of the semi-cavern, and its heat was a welcome sensation for the weakened drake. Spyro coughed, and Cynder propped him up against her body so as to be sitting upright, facing the fire._

"_You've been out for days," Cynder informed, clutching Spyro worriedly. "What happened? How are you feeling?"_

_Spyro grunted, letting his body go limp. His sense of chivalry was blaring loudly, what with letting Cynder look after him, but his body was too tired to do anything about it. "I…I don't know. Ugh, every part of my body hurts, like a powerful ache. I feel…drained, like someone just sucked away all my energy."_

_Cynder let out a sigh of relief. "I guess that's to be expected," she muttered._

_Spyro stared at Cynder with a confused expression. His memory was foggy, jumbled. "Cynder, what happened to me? Where are we? Why-"_

_When the memories all came flooding back, Spyro literally flinched in pain. His eyes widened in shock and he hissed, much to Cynder's surprise. The gravity of what had just happened struck Spyro will all the force of a boulder, and immediately he felt himself curl up defensively as his strained mind tried to process the ramifications of what had transpired. Cynder stared at him, her eyes filled with the familiar glaze of anxiety, but Spyro was silent as images of a splintering world and a fracturing crystal flooded his thoughts, overwhelmed by the sound of distant, dark laughter._

"…_Did we win?"_

_Cynder's tired face broke into a smile, a smile filled with more contentment than Spyro had ever seen in the black dragoness. That smile alone told Spyro all he needed to know, and he knew with certainty that he had nothing to worry about. The world felt whole again, and the mocking laughter faded away. _

"_We won, Spyro," she said, embracing the drake gently. Her wings wrapped around him warmly and she held herself close, and Spyro found himself returning her hold with equal warmth, relishing the dragonesses' touch. Relief turned to happiness, and for a moment the ache in his body dimmed. "We won. Malefor is no more, you put the world back together again, and above all, we're alive."_

"_I can't believe it. But…where are we?" Spyro asked, the abundant joy coursing through him mixed with twisted confusion. "We…we were at the centre of the world. How are we here?"_

"_When you unleashed that power, everything went bright for a moment," Cynder began explaining, stroking Spyro's neck tenderly as he lay in front of her. Anyone else would have Spyro confused, but he found solace in her touch. "When all the chaos ended and I could make sense of what just happened, you were on the ground and unconscious. The ceiling above that had been fracturing and breaking apart was whole once again. It took a while for me to find an exit, what with the way you'd put everything back together again, but eventually I found a place to bring you up." Cynder chuckled, but Spyro could sense the worry that she had felt. "That wasn't easy. You're a lot heavier than you look, but eventually I found a tunnel that I'd hoped lead up to the surface. Imagine my surprise that after hours of wandering in the darkness I finally found myself in the Valley of Avalar. I didn't want to move you while you were unconscious and I couldn't see any cheetahs in the nearby village, so I found this place and decided to wait until the weather grew a bit more favourable."_

_Spyro stared, barely recognizing the place. A canyon was not what he remembered of the Valley of Avalar. "But…this doesn't look like the Valley. Where-"_

_Spyro stopped himself when he caught sight of robed figure sitting crookedly on the other side of the plateau, huddled under another large tarp and clutching a long, wooden staff topped by a bright blue orb in his furred, feline hands. His eyes were only just noticeable underneath his hood, staring at him intently. The purple drake shuddered, realising where he was._

"_The hermit," he muttered. "He's sheltering us?"_

"_Not willingly, no, but I had nowhere else to go," Cynder explained, placing a protective wing over Spyro's body as she noticed the cheetah's intense gaze. "This was the only safe place I could bring you where we were protected from the storm. He protested against my presence, but I made sure he'd let you stay here, and he won't come anywhere near me."_

"_You threatened him?" Spyro asked incredulously._

"_Not in so many words," Cynder said, her voice despondent. "I'm sorry Spyro, but I had to. I don't trust him."_

_Spyro sighed, leaning into Cynder's neck. "No, no Cynder, that's fine. I'm…touched."_

_Cynder raised an eyebrow, her body growing rigid at Spyro's touch. "Really?"_

"_Yeah," Spyro confirmed. "I know how you don't want people to see you as a villain, so to hear you risk that possibility for me…"_

_Cynder snorted. "It's the hermit. I don't care what he thinks."_

_Spyro smiled. "Still, thank you. But what now?"_

_Cynder shrugged, edging both of them closer to the fire as the rain struck with greater intensity. The warmth of the flame contrasted against the cold wetness of the rain, and Spyro almost found himself shivering. "I suppose we'll wait for the weather to calm down, and then we'll take the passageway to Warfang. I hope everyone's returned there, now that several days have passed. Although," she mused. "It would be kind of funny to have an entire city to ourselves."_

"_Surely they've returned to Warfang by now."_

"_I don't know," Cynder mused. "The Guardians are a cautious bunch."_

"_The Dragon City of Warfang, forever at the mercy of Spyro and Cynder," Spyro laughed, managing to ignore the pain in his chest. "That has a nice ring to it. I could get used to it." He sighed. "But…"_

"_But, you want to make sure everyone else is safe and sound, right?" Cynder finished for him. "I know, and no doubt the Guardians are worried sick about us. Sparx too, I'm sure. The little guy's probably buzzing his wings off in worry for you, what after the last thing he asked me to do. I can't believe he actually trusted me to watch your back."_

"_What, you think you're not trustworthy?"_

"_I know I'm perfectly trustworthy," Cynder chuckled, flashing Spyro a grin. "But I also know that Sparx doesn't trust me with anything, let alone his only brother."_

"_I'm sure he trusts you now," Spyro assured her. "Just wait, when we get back to Warfang you two will be the best of friends."_

_Cynder covered her face with a wing, shaking her head in embarrassment. "Please, no, anything but that!"_

_Spyro and Cynder shared a laugh, both thankful for the mirth. It dawned on both of them that this was the first time they had ever laughed without some looming threat hanging over their heads, and the freedom that had replaced such foreboding was a new and liberating experience. And yet, despite everything telling them that they should be celebrating, indulging in the fact that they had succeeded, Spyro could sense Cynder's rigidness, the tense tone that strained her voice on every word. Something was bothering her, and Spyro's inner gut knew that it had something to do with him. What else could be the problem, when every time Cynder uttered his name it was with a subtle hint of nervousness, as if she was holding something back?_

_But he knew. Spyro knew what was making Cynder uncomfortable. He'd known ever since she had uttered those words, those compromising, dangerous, wonderful and worrying words that bored into Spyro's mind. Those words he still didn't entirely understand. "I love you_".

_Those words that both made him feel as though all his grievances were meaningless, and yet terrified him beyond description._

_So wrapped-up in his own thoughts was he that when Cynder nudged him slightly to draw his attention he visibly jumped. Cynder chuckled slightly as his reaction, oblivious as to his thoughts. "Spyro? Are you ok?" The rain was still falling._

_He could have resolved the issue then and there._

_Spyro looked at Cynder, and let a warm smile paint his face. "Yeah, I'm fine Cynder."_

- ҉ -

When Spyro jolted into wakefulness, eyes wide but body still, it was not with pleasant sensation that was the calling card of a fine, summer's morning. It was with the restlessness of one forced awake by swirling thoughts, a tempest of anxiety that three years dose of time had not remedied. Even wrapped in a safe cocoon of blankets and sheets, his mind was not at rest.

Spyro's 'bed' was not so much a bed as a pit in the floor filled to the brim with soft, downy pillows. The drake practically sunk into it, swallowed by the mass of warmth, and the thick, expansive blanket draped over the bed only added to its allure. Beyond the bed, the room itself was incredibly large for a two-dragon bedroom – in addition to the two beds lying side-by-side in the floor, a rug covered the rather empty space between the window and a doorway, with multiple large cabinets and bookshelves resting on the far wall. The ceiling was covered in a large sunroof, allowing the dim white light of the twin moons to gently cast a soft glow on Spyro's surroundings.

Spyro twisted and turned in his bed, positioning himself to stare at the figure on the opposite side of the room, covered in blankets just as him. Cynder's body rose and fell in the throes of sleep, her breathing soft and calm. It didn't take long for Spyro to start staring at her, watching her jet-black form. Cynder was faced away from him, but he could still make out the shape of her body through the blankets – long, sinuous and enticing. Even in sleep she wore the silver bracers that were the hallmark of her imprisonment, forever a reminder of her crimes against her race. Despite the three years that had passed and the growth that entailed it, the links still fit her perfectly – no doubt enchanted with magic to fit her form, no matter the size. Her silver horns had grown much longer, curling back behind her skull, and a small set of spikes had sprouted along her neck. Those self-same spikes had forced her to remove her neck-brace, which she had protested against vehemently for her own personal sake. Even to this day, it remained the only piece of jewellery from her time in slavery that she had permitted to leave her person, however unwillingly.

Unlike her bracers, however, the metal blades embedded within her wings and tail had not grown with her body, forcefully nailed into her bone as they were – no doubt for Malefor's sick and twisted joy. Spyro recalled the many days and nights where she wouldn't move for hours, clutching her wings and tail and growling in hurt, her pride refusing any help. Her body tried to grow, but the metal implants only made it more difficult, splintering her bone and rending her flesh as it was nurtured. Blood sometimes leaked from the tiny openings on her tail and wings, but it was an unreliable notice for when growing pains were about to strike. The blood did not always herald the crippling agony. Thankfully, tonight seemed restful.

Her markings, white and purple, had faded over time. The abstract diamonds and triangles that formed the strange, almost ethereal image on her scales were still perfectly clear, but their intensity and colour had drained away, leaving them a light, pale mauve. Similarly, her scales had lost the slight-but-noticeable purple tint, the last dregs of Malefor's magic having disappeared with time, and her scales had reverted to an abyssal black. Cynder had told Spyro once that she suspected black was not her natural hue, but Malefor's corrupting magic could not be expelled entirely from her body. Spyro shuddered in remembrance, having his own scars from Malefor's touch. His dark side had not manifested since that fateful day in the Burned Lands, and yet the Guardians' had commented on his slightly darker than normal colour. For Spyro's sake, he was glad they had not pried any further – they were still clueless as to his two separate incidents of unrestraint.

_What am I doing?_ He thought, clutching his head. _I'm being creepy, that's what._

Spyro fidgeted, turning onto his back to face the sunroof. The light of the quarter moon could be seen filtering through, partially eclipsing the smaller green moon. The purple drake always felt a sense of foreboding when he beheld the twin moons, a constant, nightly reminder of the Eternal Night. He pulled the blankets around him tighter, shielding himself from the reflected light.

This had been the routine ever since he had grown used to life in the bustling city. At least once a week he would awaken half way through the night, through a nightmare or not, and be left with his own thoughts in the silence and isolation of the house. And without fail, his thoughts would always drift towards Cynder, in one form or another.

Spyro wasn't certain when he had started nurturing feelings towards Cynder. In retrospect he thought that they first surfaced when he had saved them both at the Well of Souls, that chaotic, dreaded night that he had lost himself and struck Gaul down. That night where he had embraced Cynder, pulled her close to him and protected her from anything that might have harmed her. It had been the last thing he had thought about before he imprisoned them all in time for three years – and the first thing he remembered when he had awoken. Such thoughts were thrust from his mind by the dangers they had been plunged into, but he was certain that her face was the first thing that he saw upon awakening.

And yet, he had hidden those feelings, for a twisted mixture of reasons. For one, he was clueless. Romance was entirely foreign to him, an alien experience. How could he ever know anything about love or relationships, having grown up as a stranger in his own home, an oddity among insects that shared his name? He had been chaste, celibate, and pure until Cynder made her grandiose entrance into his humble life, and despite the dark, compromising thoughts that swirled within his mind there was not a drop of remorse mingled with his desire for her. There was, however, a hint of regret for his handling of the situation; even if at the time he had not known any better.

Two, he was terrified. He should have spoken. He should have _said_ something, _anything_ to bring up her confession. When he first woke up, his body limp and unresponsive after the colossal drain on his energy that repairing the world demanded as its price, had been the perfect time. He could have easily bought it up, pulled another confession from her, _ascertained_ her suspicions and maybe, hopefully, began something wonderful. But Spyro had been scared, both out of his own incompetence and the fear that he had misheard, that he had been wrong, that he would scar their friendship forever.

The third reason had only become apparent after returning to Warfang, and right now it stood as the greatest wall between him and the dragoness. Malefor had corrupted her – that was an inescapable fact. Not only had he scarred her body, as was plainly obvious, but Spyro knew that her mind had been affected with equal severity. Whoever she would have grown up to be in normal circumstances ceased to exist; she was Cynder, Terror of the Skies and Saviour of the Realms both. Spyro knew her for who she was – a kind, selfless, thoughtful dragoness who felt the burden of her bondage stronger than anyone gave her credit for. He knew this because he knew her personally, had seen her suffer through her guilt and shame. The Ambassadors didn't, the people didn't. They only knew her as Spyro's accomplice, his 'sidekick', ignorant to the true role she played in Malefor's downfall. She was hidden, however precariously, from the judgemental gaze of the crowd, and for her sake Spyro had fought tooth and claw to keep it that way. Affirming a romantic interest in her would undo all of his work, and he dared not risk her fragile psyche for the possibly hollow promise of her love. He already had her trust, her laugh, her smile, her companionship. Did he really need the chance to force his lips against hers, the right to hold her close in the prison of his arms, the audacity to spend a long winter's night curled up in bed enjoying her? At what cost?

_Why do I always become so introspective at night?_ Spyro pondered, closing his eyes. He could hear his own breathing, his own heartbeat, and he allowed himself to focus on the beat and rhythm. _I never get any sleep._

After spending the night out with Sparx and Hunter, dining at an expensive restaurant in Warfang's Hightown, Spyro had been utterly exhausted when he returned to the manor he and Cynder now 'owned.' The night had been spent in equal parts leisure and business. Sparx and Hunter first explained the events that composed their trip to the Dragonfly Swamp, in north-eastern Nubila. The trek was surprisingly long given the remote location, but taking the established roads had quickened their pace. Several times Sparx recounted how he had bravely rescued Hunter from a shadow ape or bandit attack, and during these tales Spyro and Cynder merely laughed and humoured the dragonfly while Hunter sat back with an amused smirk on his face.

Sparx had joyously greeted his parents upon their arrival, filling them in on what had happened in his absence. Once the serious discussion had begun, Sparx's mood grew grim as he carefully danced around how difficult it was to convince the village to move to a safer place.

"You know how much mom and dad love the place, Spyro, so you know what I went through when I was the one delivering the ground-breaking news," he had said, sitting on the table and rubbing his brow, his food forgotten. "I didn't like the news any more than they did when mister high-and-mighty Ambassador told me of Sovereign Alroy's plan to move them somewhere safer. While I have to admit that not having to worry about a bulb spider attack ruining everything, the place is just so sentimental for the whole village. Everyone there has lived there for countless generations. Getting them all to pack up and move is near impossible!"

It frustrated Spyro that no matter what they talked about, the seemingly-endless reach of the politics of Warfang always intruded. The so-called "Dragon City" was the gathering place of all factions, where anyone of any race was accepted and had a say in matters that concerned them – on paper. In truth, the city was rife with bureaucracy, ambitious senators and desperate men clawing for a piece of the monumental political power that Warfang offered to anyone willing to brave the dangerous game of facades, betrayal and intrigue. Beyond this feral feud for power, very little was done in the way of progress, as the world was still in shambles and the allegedly equal power struggle was tilted in favour of one side or another. The worst among these politicians were the Ambassadors.

The Ambassadors were high-ranking, politically mighty characters sent to Warfang as representatives of the Four Nations specifically to delegate with the other representatives from the _other_ nations. Each held monumental influence within both Warfang and their own countries, and it was Spyro's steadfast belief that they had all been specifically trained to _waste time._ No one else he had ever met had been better suited to rambling on about some meaningless law or contract or treaty that demanded specific rules and codes of conduct that had only just enough bearing on the current situation to make their spiels relevant yet unhelpful. Despite Spyro's position as the arbiter of such debates, the purple dragon had quickly learnt that trying to compromise between the four warring politicians was a futile and arduous endeavour. No Ambassador was willing to give any quarter to a rival nation when their own country would be even slightly inconvenienced. It was as if they were _trying_ to make life as difficult as possible for everyone other than themselves.

When Spyro had first been informed of the Ambassadors and the Four Nations, a sense of foreboding had immediately washed over him. What he had been told was as follows – the Dragon Realms were comprised of four large countries that together held the vast majority of land on the two separating continents.

Bellum was the northernmost nation, led by a large council composed of various representatives of the county's numerous different states. In a word, it was opportunistic, and a steadfast democracy. With very little shoreline as a result of being backed up against the northern mountains and shut-in to the east by the lawless Barrens, the former home of the apes, Bellum's economy ran mostly on the trade of mechanics and transport, thanks to its large mole population, and was the largest exporter of traditional weaponry, armour and vehicles of war in the Realms. Unlike the other nations, Bellum had not borders lying directly against Warfang's own, a direct route being blocked by the black scar that was the Burned Lands.

Nubila was the easternmost nation and the second-largest topographically. The Nubilan soil was oft-praised as the most fertile in the Realms, and as the Nubilan economy ran nearly entirely on the export of crops and livestock it is difficult to argue the point. Before the Maleficarum War had taken the balance of power and crushed it underfoot, Nubila had been the proud commander of the Realms' largest and most disciplined military force, easily able to keep order within the nation's borders. In the aftermath however, Nubila's military had been decimated, a mere shadow of what it once was. Sovereign Alroy, current head of the Nubilan monarchy, had done an admirable job in recent years to bring the nation back to its former glory, but it was simply too much for a single, elderly drake, and the rumours of his debilitating illness only served to weaken his political presence.

Vitae was the nation that Spyro had the most trouble with. Having a continent all to their own, however small, in the southern oceans beyond Warfang had lent Vitae a powerful, isolated fortress during the Maleficarum War, and when the long and gruelling era had finally come to a close they had come out relatively unscathed compared to its three rivals. A powerful, ancient aristocracy, the Vitaean Magisters were well-known for both their powerful arcane magic, a dearth of elemental allegiance that left them with powerful physics-bending abilities, and their cold, unfeeling logic. The climate matched their hearts, starting from mildly temperate in the northern tundras to deathly frigid in the southern mountains. Nevertheless, Vitae was a culturally rich and militarily powerful nation in the aftermath of the war, and had quickly made itself known as a threat to the other three countries.

Arida was the nation that spanned half of the northern continent, owning almost more land than both Bellum and Nubila combined. A large portion of that land was comprised of the colossal Miser Desert, a dry, arid and dangerous area that spanned most of Arida and a portion of Bellum. As opposed to the somewhat forgiving political systems of the other countries, Arida was a vicious, bloodthirsty plutocracy, where trade and wealth meant everything and the mere threat of withdrawn trade could cow someone into submission. With most of the population clustered alongside the scattered coastline, the wealthy merchants with their own private armies were boxed into a small area, and constantly warred and fought for a larger piece of Arida's economy – this fractured sense of state cost them dearly, for Arida was without question the most wounded nation in the Realms in the aftermath of the war. Barely half of its original population still survived, and much of its ruling class were dead or missing.

In short, the Dragon Realms were a cocktail of instability at the moment, and Spyro was right in the centre of things.

The purple drake groaned slightly and stood up, shedding his excess blanket and being wary not to awaken Cynder. Tip-toeing with utmost caution, Spyro strode over to the glass door on the far side of the room and opened it, wincing as it creaked, and exited onto the exposed platform of the balcony. Ignoring the chairs scattered along the floor, Spyro propped up his forearms and leant against the railing, staring out onto the darkened city before him. Warfang, the Dragon City, stood near-silent in all its glory, hidden by the shroud of night.

Spyro sighed, enjoying the caress of the wind against his scales. A gentle, cool southerly wind was blowing, coming up from northern Vitae. Cold wind was a rare thing in Warfang, and Spyro relished the opportunity. Even next to the Hollow Sea as it was, Warfang was near-constantly baked by burning winds and heatwaves bought from the north, from the still-smouldering Burned Lands.

_I won't be getting any sleep tonight,_ Spyro thought, staring at the twin moons from his perch. He shuddered.

- ҉ -

_Cynder was screaming._

_Screaming at a world that had taken everything from her._

"_Where is he!?" she cried, wings spread, head high. "What have you done with him!? Why _now_!?"_

_She stood silent, awaiting a response from a heedless god, before collapsing to the ground. Pained sobs broke the silence as she clutched her head in sorrow, the roots of despair beginning to blossom. Why now, after such a long, desperate struggle, was he taken from her? Why, on the eve of their victory, had he been snatched from her grasp? Spirited away from what should have been a triumphant victory?_

_Once the blinding, incandescent purple light had faded, once the sweet anodyne of adrenaline had faded from her mind, once the fractured ceiling of the world above her had mended itself, Cynder had opened her eyes and seen the broken crystal whole once more. The titanic violet structure, the slowly-pulsating heart of the planet, was damaged no more. A cascade of glittering lavender danced in the sky above her, almost concealing the plain stone roof of the cavern that now stood complete, mingling with the levitating fragments of crystal scattered around the labyrinthine formations of the rock. But the otherworldly scene was lacking a single, vital thing._

_Spyro._

_He was gone as if he had never existed. Where he had once stood, a wave of strange energy emanating from his very being, was now empty. Everywhere was empty. Nothing living had set foot in this isolated catacomb for countless millennia, and not a speck of life was to be found other than Cynder herself, lying on the cold, hard surface of the stoic crystal, tears streaming down her snout. Her wings shrouded her body, hiding it from view, but there was nothing in the chasm to see her sorrow, no one to judge her despair. Even if there was, she wouldn't care – the only person that she truly cared about was gone, and Cynder didn't know why. That was the most painful part._

_Her tears remained for many minutes, tainting her scales and leaving the foul taste of salt in her mouth. The sound of her cries echoed throughout the cavern, but Cynder was ignorant as to their intensity. All she could think of was her sorrow. When she finally stopped, trying desperately to control her heaving, she stared with a lethal fury at the floor below her, watching the dancing colours of the crystal with red-rimmed eyes._

"_Bring him back," she whispered intensely, digging her claws into the gem. The surface cracked somewhat, jagged white lines spearing around her talons, but it held firm. "He deserves _better_ than this! Better than death! Better than wherever he is now! He deserves _more_ for what he's done here. Done for you!"_

_Cynder slammed her claws into the paragon, watching as larger cracks spread around her. The pulsating colour beneath her began to darken, slivers of energy slipping through the fissures. "I know you know what he's done for you," she growled, ignoring the gathering mist around her. "He went through _hell_ for you! And he did it without complaint! He _never_ complained! He accepted what you threw at him in stride! And _this_ is how you repay him!?"_

_After a moment's silence Cynder hissed, watching as more bright purple energy slipped through the cracks she had made and began to move around her. "Bring him BACK!"_

_Striking at the fissure once more, Cynder was unprepared for the bright flash of light that erupted from the shattered crystal. She was flung back, crying in pain and clutching her eyes, clawing at them in a vain attempt to stop the pain. Something was burning into her eyes, and beyond her screams of pain she could hear a distinct hissing sound, like steam through rock. Squinting her eyes shut, Cynder simply lay there, waiting for the pain to recede like a wounded child with no clue what to do. She blinked slowly, testing her sight, but she could barely make out the stone in front of her with the serpentine image burned into her eyes. She began to blink rapidly, patiently waiting for the black-and-blue burn to disappear, and once it had she turned towards the fractured crystal and gasped in shock._

_She wasted no time running to his side, cradling his violet body in her arms, heedless to the sharp, broken crystal surrounding his body. He checked him for wounds, bruises, damages, anything that might have been different, and the sigh of relief that followed was the greatest she had ever given._

"_Spyro, you're alive," she muttered, hugging the purple dragon close to her body. His eyes were closed and his body was near-motionless, but Cynder could feel the soft beating of his pulse and the rise and fall of his chest as he exhaled. He looked like a sleeping babe. Tears had begun to run down her cheeks again, but they were of joy and not sadness. For all of a minute she simply sat there, embracing Spyro's body like a child does their doll, before opening her eyes and staring at the damage she had done to the crystal below. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone as sincere as she could make it beyond her joyous sobs. "Thank you."_

_Cynder didn't know how long she lay there, cradling the purple drake's body in her own. She didn't care. But when common sense finally broke through her shield of relief, she realised that she needed to find a way out of here and back to the surface, to the safety of their friends._

_And yet, as she gazed up at the cavern ceiling, staring in confusion at the maze of passageways and abstract formations that the rock had settled into, she knew that her task would not be an easy one._

"_Alright Spyro," she whispered to her lover, looking at his closed eyes with certainty. "Let's go home."_

- ҉ -

When the rustling had emanated from Spyro's bed, the haze of sleep immediately lifted from Cynder's mind, forcing her into consciousness. She held herself as still as stone as he quietly tip-toed over to the glass door, taking great care as not to disturb the already-awake dragoness, and held her breath as he left the bedroom and departed onto the balcony. Only then did Cynder release her pent-up breath, wiggling her body to stare at the purple dragon outside.

He leant against the terrace railing, staring out onto the motionless black city before him. The pale white light from the larger moon gave his violet scales an otherworldly quality, and he remained still as he gazed out upon the towering spires of Warfang and the glistening black ocean beyond them. Cynder sighed, inwardly anxious over Spyro's lack of sleep. This was not an uncommon occurrence, for him to leave his bed in the middle of the night and traipse around the house in restlessness. It made the dragoness worried.

But then, a lot about Spyro made Cynder worried.

The only movement to be seen beyond the door was the gentle swaying of Spyro's thick tail, a clear sign of his discontent. Cynder just stared, soaking in the magnificent, proud sight of the purple drake. Three years had changed him considerably, far more than it had the dragoness. Spyro was much bulkier now, his body having grown much larger and his chest wider and boxier than it had been. He was also far more muscular, either due to his constant sparring to stay in shape or the gruelling, sometimes arduous work that he did to distract himself from the painful politics he was so often exposed to. His body had more shape nowadays, more figure, and he stood out against the crowd regardless of his hue.

His scales were also a much darker lavender nowadays, and Cynder chalked it up to natural development in his saturation. Everything about him seemed older, more mature – his underbelly, wings and horns were no longer the rich yellow they used to be, having turned into a fine, attractive bronze over the years. The large, baby-like snout that had been his embarrassing calling-card while young had been stripped away, leaving him with a mug more attractive than half of the Realms. Even the long row of spines seemed to have grown somewhat, with the golden spikes arching longer and the pale membrane stretching further down his back, creating an elegant trail of fins. In relation to the rest of his body his tail had grown not much longer, but it was larger and more muscular, more powerful. Spyro's wingspan had also grown to accommodate his increased size and weight, with the membrane stretching down to his hips. Despite Spyro's size and weight – a bit heavier than other drakes his age – it was all muscle, without a shred of excess fat.

But to Cynder, the feature that had changed the most was his eyes, his brilliant, amaranthine eyes. The dragoness hadn't thought long about it when she first met Spyro, the diminutive, naïve little child that had somehow freed her from slavery, but when her feelings had first begin to bloom she couldn't look away from his eyes. They had been amethyst pools of honesty, shining beacons of hope during those terrible, painstaking months. He had only been a friend after he had freed her, nothing more than a saviour she felt honour-bound to revere, but once her heart tied itself to his those eyes had become her life. And yet, three years after their fears were supposed to have vanished, the innocence and honesty that had once drawn Cynder so strongly to his side had disappeared from the lilac orbs, replaced with a bitter resentment of his delegated position in life and a precarious hesitancy that Cynder couldn't pinpoint. She wished that is gaiety, his fun-loving, buoyant attitude would return somehow.

Only Cynder, Terror of the Skies, could know so much by looking at someone's eyes. She had gazed into too many as she took the life from them, during the agonising years under Malefor's duress.

Cynder wondered what had first attracted her to Spyro, and her mind did not let her ponder for long. At first, it had been purely emotional. Against overwhelming pressure to think otherwise, Spyro had been the one person – save perhaps Ignitus – who had ever been willing to give her the time of day, let alone ready to ignore her past sins and grant her the benefit of the doubt. When they had returned from Convexity and Spyro had applied himself to re-learning his elemental powers, Cynder's only goal in life was to somehow even her personal debt with the world in any way possible. She had abandoned her saviour, her metaphorical family at the Dragon Temple, in order to atone for crimes that were not wholly hers. Waylaid on her journey, it was only Spyro's intervention that had prevented a repetition of her imprisonment, and she had been thankful beyond compare – and a bit frustrated that it was that one, annoying little drake that constantly made her look the incompetent fool.

But then three years after being saved at the Well of Souls, being literally chained to the drake she owed so much to, had opened up avenues of emotion that Cynder had thought herself numbed towards. Years of violence and bloodshed had stifled many of Cynder's deeper emotions, most prevalently those of love and trust, but Spyro had somehow, clueless to his actions, unlocked those powerful urges within. Being in such close proximity to him had only fuelled those feelings of love, and it was then that Cynder knew that she had been inextricably bound to the drake, through her own will or not. There was no doubting the thoughts she had towards him, no fighting the desperate need to be with him. It had culminated with her anxious declaration of love at the centre of the world, while watching it fall apart around her. And yet, three years after that pivotal moment in her life, Spyro had shown no inclination that he had ever heard her.

And in those three years, with the growth of both body and mind that it entailed, had only aggravated her incessant need for Spyro, adding a painful, physical craving for him alongside her vital emotional one.

Since then her hormones had nearly gone crazy. Since his baby-like, childish body had morphed into a powerful jaw and wide shoulders. Since his tiny wings had grown into canvases to rival the greatest of art galleries. Since his adorable and dorky demeanour had hardened into a suave, brazen attitude that made her heart skip a beat whenever he complimented her in his sincere, yet cocky tone. Since he began to subconsciously tease her with her ever-strengthening friendship, leaving the dragoness pining for him whenever events forced him away, she had been trying desperately to bridge the gap between them that still persisted.

And yet despite his perfect body that drove her nearly crazy, his eyes still reminded her of the impassable wall that lay between the two.

Cynder was no fool. She could see the way that Spyro stared at her when he thought she wasn't looking, the way his gaze drifted over her admittedly splendid body. Cynder knew her charms, knew the value of her sensual body, and she knew with certainty that Spyro found her undeniably attractive. And yet he refuted any and all interest with her, and encouraged Cynder to do the same when others began to pry into their lives. The dragoness understood to an extent – after all, neither one wanted the public eye prying into the intricacies of their lofty relationship – but sometimes Spyro dodged explanation in ways that frustrated her beyond all rationality. And yet despite all these obvious hints, all these blatant clues that screamed "He likes you!" Cynder was still deathly afraid to make the first move, for on her words she was gambling everything she had built her life around – her friendship with the purple dragon.

Lover or no, Cynder had long come to the conclusion that she needed Spyro to live. What else was there in life for her but Spyro's stalwart presence? She had constructed her entire being around Spyro's existence, from her desire to amend for her crimes to her wish to move on with life. With what the two of them had been through, it wasn't hard to see why Cynder had become so attached to the purple drake. Everyone else she knew, everyone she considered a friend she had met through Spyro. He was the keystone to her social connections, and she knew that without him they would all slowly fall apart. What then, would happen if she alienated him by confronting him over their shared feelings and he didn't reciprocate for one reason or another? Alongside the obvious awkwardness between her and Spyro, how would the Guardians react? As much as she treasured their support and help it was mostly through Spyro's urging that she ever spoke with them, and the same was true for most everyone else, Hunter, Sparx and Mason included. Whether intentionally or not, it was clear that Cynder had built the city of her life around the foundation that was Spyro's existence, and without him it would crumble to dust.

It infuriated her. Why should Cynder, one of the most feared dragonesses to ever stalk the Realms, be so hopelessly tied to a single drake? It was unbecoming of a woman so powerful to be chained unwillingly again to another purple dragon, and yet here she was wrapped in a shroud of blankets longingly staring at Spyro from the safety of indoors.

It was pathetic. But Cynder knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. For in the deepest folds of her heart, she knew she wanted him.

When Spyro turned to move back inside, a flash of worry shot through Cynder and she quickly buried herself under her blankets again, feigning sleep to ward off his inquisitive gaze. Only when she was certain that he had again retreated back into his own bed did she dare gaze out from a crack in her sheets, watching his near-motionless form under the duress of his bed. The dragoness sighed.

She would be getting very little sleep tonight. She shuddered.


	4. Induction - Purpose Renewed

The last chapter (chronologically, chapter 3) received a total of four reviews. After having a look around, and finding out that 12 reviews for a climactic chapter is generous, I've since counted myself lucky to obtain this many on an _introduction chapter__!_ I truly can't express how much your words of support mean to me, especially since my own confidence in this story started out rather slim. Thank you for giving me more reason to press forward!

This chapter gave me some slight difficulty, so you may notice that the latter parts are somewhat lower-quality and for that I apologise. I almost considered postponing the chapter until I fixed it up, but I am determined to maintain my schedule of a new chapter every Sunday. Upcoming exams in school didn't help matters either. As always, feel free to point out any typos/mistakes you notice, and constructive critiques are always welcome!

With this chapter, the Induction is over. We should be going into the main meat of the story with a faster pace now, so be ready!

* * *

Purpose Renewed

_With a return to the city had come a flood of celebrations. Spyro had loathed the attention he received, and despite the immensity and intricacy of the city he now found himself residing within avoiding the flooding crowd had proven futile. The purple drake had quickly learnt that large cities didn't provide an easier time of dodging notoriety – in fact, it made it more difficult. It was fortunate he had deduced this within mere hours of arriving in the city again. With how commonplace strangers were, Spyro found himself almost overwhelmed. After all, he had lived in a small village most of his life, and even his time with the Guardians in the Dragon Temple had been one of relative solitude, away from the prying eyes of those he did not know. Now, being hailed as a saviour and thrust into the gaze of thousands of people, Spyro had no idea what to do with himself._

_His only solace came in the understanding and protective embrace of the Guardians themselves, who currently had him sequestered away in a library somewhere in Warfang's "Hightown", a phrase Spyro still didn't entirely understand. Cities were a new concept to him, and he had yet to take the time to familiarise himself with his surroundings. The enormous, expansive room he found himself in felt like a cavern – a simile he felt comforted by – but the narrow rows split by towering shelves made him feel tiny, inconsequential. Tomes of every size, shape and thickness dotted the multitude of bookcases, and he soon found himself lost in the wealth of knowledge they offered to him. He had quickly picked out a spot near the window, sitting on a low stool covered in cushions, absorbing the information before him like a starved weasel while enjoying the warm rays of the sun filtering through the blinds, distracted for a moment by the golden flecks of dust floating about. Books were scattered about him, the remnants of his craving, left opened and pages vulnerable, ignored in his voracious hunger for the knowledge left within. The librarian, while a rather old crone who furrowed her brow at his careless treatment of the library's contents, couldn't help but smile at his eagerness, leaving the Spyro to happily devour any and all wisdom. Occasionally she would stride up to his side and replace a book that had been heedlessly tossed aside, but otherwise she left him to his own devices._

_So enraptured by the tomes before him he barely noticed the jet-black dragoness watching him sharply from within the chasm of bookshelves, gazing at him with a longing, trepidatious intensity. From the safe veil of the shadows, Cynder found herself hesitant to approach her friend. Barely minutes after arriving back in the great Dragon City the Guardians, while exuberant with the duo's safe return, had quickly spirited the two adolescents away from the clamouring crowd, keeping them in isolation for the time being. The dragoness was silently thankful for their rapid understanding – after weeks upon weeks of battle and travel and chaos and hurt, the last thing that she wanted was to be forced to face a judgemental mob. Spyro and she had been waiting in the silence of the library for several hours, pensively expecting the Guardians to re-emerge at any moment from the massive mahogany doors._

_Or at least, Cynder was the pensive one. Spyro seemed unconcerned, losing himself in his books while the dragoness simply sat back, hesitant to approach._

_Her thoughts were interrupted when a loud rumbling broke through the air, shattering the quiet of the library, as the doorway opened and three immense drakes entered, each a different colour – icy blue, brilliant yellow and mossy green. Spyro's head shot up, shocked by the intrusion, but his surprise was rapidly replaced by glee when he recognized the figures, a warm smile spreading across his snout. Cynder likewise was relieved, anxious that someone would interrupt, but the sight of Cyril, Volteer and Terrador eased her worries._

_Nevertheless, Spyro was unprepared for the blazing golden light that rocketed past the much larger dragons straight towards him, embedding himself on the purple drake's neck in a grip stronger than iron._

"_Spyro!" Sparx cried out, embracing his brother perhaps a bit too strongly. "Spyro! I can't believe you're ok! You rotten purple lump, making me worry like that!"_

"_Sparx, it's good to see you too," Spyro replied, covering his neck with his wing in an awkward, but heartfelt embrace, concealing the glowing dragonfly behind his protective shield. "Likewise! Don't you think for a second that I wasn't worried about you! I half expected you to run off in pursuit, following me and Cynder into the Burned Lands like I told you not to!"_

"_Pfft," Sparx replied, his voice somewhat muffled by Spyro's wing. Cynder couldn't help but chuckle, a similar sound of amusement emanating from the collected Guardians. "Be glad that I let you take the lead for once. That's never gonna happen again, ok? I'm never letting you leave my side. I gotta take care of you, and I don't think I could handle watching you run off into danger a second time."_

"_We are all exuberant, buoyant that you've returned to us unharmed, young dragon," Volteer commented, his elderly smile still full of youthful warmth. "These past days waiting grimly for your uncertain return have been exceedingly and uncompromisingly difficult."_

"_Sorry," Spyro apologised sheepishly, a silly grin still covering his face from Sparx's unfaltering, vice-like grip. "Ow, Sparx, you're going to hurt me!" After extricating his brother form his neck as gently as possible, he turned to his elders. "We were held up along the way. The Realms are harder to navigate than you'd think, and I admittedly don't know much about them other than what you've told me. Thankfully, I had a brilliant guide."_

"_We are all of us grateful to have you and Cynder back without incident," Terrador assured. He took a seat next to Spyro, his fellow Guardians following suit, and they quickly formed a semi-circle around Spyro's ring of tomes, which he was now gazing at with an embarrassed expression. "Speaking of the dragoness, where is she?"_

_Cynder took this as her cue to flee the shadows, despite her reservations. As she let the sun brighten her form, she held back a shiver when Spyro was the first to notice her, his amaranthine eyes quickly seeing her movements._

"_Here."_

_The Guardians turned to look at the interruption, and they all smiled in welcome. With all eyes on her – especially Spyro's own – Cynder suddenly felt extremely small. The moment this feeling erupted in her mind, Cynder immediately summoned her own, powerful loathing for it. She didn't know why, but it felt unjust for her to, in any way, feel cowed in front of her only friends. The sudden mix of emotions faltered her speech, rendering her tongue numb to all commands, but thankfully a reprieve from her inaction came from a most unlikely source. Sparx, of all people, finally relinquished his grip on his brother and darted towards Cynder, clamping his tiny, insect arms around Cynder's neck. While the force of his tackle was nothing compared to an adolescent dragoness, the sheer shock of the golden dragonfly hugging her, who had all but despised her not too long ago, was enough to knock the black dragoness back several steps._

_For a moment, Cynder simply sat there stunned, while Spyro was the only one grinning happily among the gathered dragons. When Sparx let go, hovering near eye-level with Cynder, the Guardians simply looked confused. The dragonfly coughed, clearing his throat, obviously somewhat embarrassed. Cynder just stared at him, both with a wry smile and a raised, quizzical eyebrow._

"_I…uh," Sparx faltered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I guess uh…Spyro's back safely so…you kind of…well, kept your promise," he explained, squinting his eyes almost painfully. The loathing with which he spoke those words was almost palpable, and Cynder forced herself to hold back a chuckle. "So, I guess I should…uh…th-thank…y…you…ugh. That's why I hugged you, ok?" He immediately grunted, spinning away from Cynder and crossing his arms. "I still don't like you."_

_Cynder shook her head slowly, the smile never leaving her face. "Oh Sparx, you're pathetic to watch. Really, you can't even thank me properly? I expected better of you."_

_Sparx scowled indignantly, glaring at Cynder. "Hey, that took a lot of effort, so be grateful! You'll never hear me say that again!"_

_Cynder just chuckled, echoed by the rest of the gathered dragons. "I'm just kidding Sparx. Thank you, it means a lot to have your gratitude."_

_Sparx nodded tersely, retreating back to Spyro's flank. Seeing the two brothers side-by-side again reminded Cynder of how long they had been gone, and a wave of relief washed over her once more. The Guardians however, had their own agenda, and Cyril cleared his throat to gain the attention of everyone present._

"_Yes, yes, while this reunion is indeed touching and tear-inducing, I do believe many questions still remain unanswered," he began. "I take it from your unharmed selves that you were victorious over Malefor, and that he is no longer a threat to the Realms. I can accept that, unsatisfactory explanation for now, but there is a notable absence that we need to account for."_

_With those words the mood immediately grew grim, with Cyril's tirade sapping any mirth that might have remained. Cynder quickly looked at Spyro, frowning in worry for her purple friend, but despite his sullen gaze he held himself rigid, seemingly determined not to show any weakness. After what had happened in the Burned Lands, Cynder was unsure whether his façade of strength was to hide his sorrow or to hide what had happened that day. Either way, Cynder understood his situation._

_Neither of them had been looking forward to confirming Ignitus' death._

_Cynder wanted to spare Spyro the pain of telling the Guardians, but when she had discussed the issue on their way back to Warfang he had been adamant that he would be the one to break the news. In retrospect, Spyro had never had time to grieve for the fire Guardian, never had time to wish farewell. Even upon Ignitus' impromptu death, Spyro had pushed on ahead, determined to finish what the old drake had begun. Without a chance to mourn, Spyro had become numb – on their journey to Warfang, Spyro had been unable to cry for his parental surrogate, no matter how intense his mood had grown, no matter how crushing the realisation._

_It was a forlorn feeling, for Cynder to watch her best friend become so dazed to one of his greatest tragedies._

_Spyro finally sighed, his determined expression faltering for a moment. The helplessness in that one sigh was all that was needed to tell the Guardians what had transpired, and although all three of them grew sorrowful upon Spyro's exclamation Cynder had a growing feeling that they had known the truth all along. Nevertheless, they needed to hear it, as much as Spyro needed to say it._

"_Ignitus has passed away," Spyro whispered sullenly. Next to him, the golden orb of Sparx flickered dimly, putting a hand on Spyro's neck as a sign of support. "He…he gave his life to get both Cynder and I through the Belt of Fire. There was no other way…"_

_Terrador and Volteer exchanged glances, and Cyril simply stared at the ground in front of him. Despite the bright sunlight that still filtered through the window, Cynder felt as though all light had been momentarily snuffed out. She simply looked at her paws, desperately desiring to say something comforting but not trusting her own words._

"_I suppose we knew that this event, this sacrifice, struggle, affair, result would occur," Volteer said, breaking the silence that had shrouded the group. His usually, cheery demeanour had disappeared, leaving a quiet, reserved Volteer in its place. Cynder found it extremely out-of-character, and it made her uncomfortable to see the electric Guardian so dour. "Ignitus was always certain of his mission, and his faith in you, young dragon. I've no uncertainty, not a hint of doubt that he knew he would give his life for you one day."_

"_I know now, looking back on it, that there was no other way," Spyro began, his voice low. "But that doesn't really ease the pain."_

"_The only medicament for your pain is time, young Spyro," Terrador assured, placing an enveloping wing over the purple drake's back. "Nothing can be said that will help, but we are all sharing the same grief. You are not alone."_

"_Besides," Cyril interjected, lifting his eyes and gazing at Spyro. Cynder noticed a strange glint in his eyes, a sharp, dangerous, assured shine that was entirely foreign for the ice drake. Cynder knew that Cyril was a pompous, proud old man, but the ambition that she saw in his gaze was completely unlike him. "Knowing Ignitus, he would most likely be furious at us if we dared to mope his passing for any longer than is reasonable. The crone never feared death, did he? He was always so invested in his own little crusade that I doubt he'd know what to do with himself when we finally won."_

_Terrador and Volteer shared a warm, reminiscent smile with Cyril, but Spyro simply stared at them quizzically. Gone was his sullen attitude, but neither was he altogether happy._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Ignitus was more devoted to the War than anyone else we knew," Terrador explained. "It took the loss of all three of us Guardians to make him lose hope, and even then events transpired that assured his faith in his cause never wavered, in no small part to you, hatchling. Cyril believes, as do we, that Ignitus would never have known what to do if he was alive when we succeeded over Malefor. He had so completely dedicated himself to his downfall, and our survival."_

_Spyro went quiet, trying to process their words. Before he could speak however, Terrador stood up, gesturing for Spyro to do the same._

"_Come, Spyro," he beckoned. "There will be time to mourn later. For now, I believe we should prepare accommodations for you and Cynder both." He smiled, a warm, comforting smile that eased some of Spyro's pain. "You deserve a long, quiet rest after what you have both been through."_

- ҉ -

The doors to the council chamber were massive beasts, made of ebony with gold and bronze decals. Around the handle were four insignias, each one representing one of the Four Nations. From his high perch near the roof of the hallway, hidden within the thick wooden rafters, Sparx could see everything that happened in the building with ease, barring that which occurred beyond those enormous doors. Dragons, cheetahs and moles, all decorated and clothed in extravagant jewellery, expensive robes and lavish cloaks. And, as Sparx's keen eyes happened to notice, they were all mingling with a tension that betrayed their intentions. The dragonfly didn't trust a single one of them – thus, his perch above them.

Sparx shared his brother's hatred of politicians, and these councillors and senators were no different. He was grateful that he didn't have Spyro's life, being forced to mingle with these unscrupulous people day in and day out, but that didn't stop the dragonfly from loathing any and all contact he had with them. If it were up to him, Sparx wouldn't come within a hundred meters of the place, but he had an obligation to look after his big purple brother, so he repressed the urge to pummel everyone in the room and waited as patiently as his ego would allow.

But the wait was beginning to get on his nerves. Every now and then he would flicker his wings in frustration, knock a stray splinter from the rafter and watch it fall to the ground below, or flash momentarily to draw the attention of the crowd below before concealing himself behind a wooden beam, chuckling like an idiot. But even this mundane entertainment failed to occupy his thoughts, and so when the ebony doors finally creaked open and the purple lug that was his brother finally emerged, Sparx was at his side faster than light, hovering next to his shoulder and firing off glares at the wary gazes of the surrounding politicians.

As it was, Sparx didn't need to discourage the people around him. For if looks could kill, the scowl that clothed Spyro's face would have rendered everyone in the building comatose right that instant.

"Hey, Spyro, you ok?" Sparx questioned, noticing his brother's deathly gaze. "What happened in there? Come on, don't leave me hanging!"

"Just pompous fools delaying the inevitable," Spyro spat, causing his brother to shy away. "It's impossible for them to agree on anything, no matter how sensible it is. It's all about them, all the time. No quarter for anyone else, is there? If it doesn't help their own country, they'll have nothing to do with it. It's always the same."

"Whoa, buddy, slow down," Sparx exclaimed, holding his hands up and hovering in front of Spyro's muzzle. "You're speaking in riddles! What's going on?"

Spyro stopped at the exit of the chamber, halting at the threshold between the sunny, bright courtyard and the stifling, thick air of the senate. He sighed, leaning against the doorway and facing his brother with a tired expression. People continued to pass around him, respectfully inclining their heads towards him or muttering some polite greeting under their breath. Spyro ignored them.

"It's concerning some of the reconstruction efforts, particularly in Arida," Spyro began, his tone downcast. "Sedula, Ambassador of Arida if you don't remember, was furious when reports of Vitaean support teams were leaked and suggested that they weren't providing as much aid as they could have. Some isolated reports also indicated that some teams were doing reconnaissance on the faded military presence still under Arida's command. Levis naturally refuted all claims, but the evidence shown is disconcerting. I don't like what is suggests."

Sparx frowned. "Well don't keep me in the dark. What does it suggest?"

Spyro swallowed nervously. "If my instincts are right, then this could be the first hints of war."

Sparx took a double-take and his eyes widened. "Wait, war?" The dragonfly exclaimed. "But we just got _out_ of a war! Why would they start a new one?"

Spyro looked at his brother with a hard-eyed gaze, only traces of emotion in his amethyst eyes. "Sparx, do you want me to be perfectly honest with you, or would you rather I gloss over the more sensitive subjects?"

"Uh…honest?"

"They might go to war because it's the perfect time to do so," Spyro explained, rubbing his forehead with a wing. He gestured to his brother to follow him, striding out of the council chambers and into the white-stone courtyard of the Warfang Citadel. The entrance was ringed by a large wall, which held a multitude of managerial offices from other minor officials, all from either the Four Nations of Warfang's own administrative council. Unlike the hallway into the senate, the courtyard was mostly empty and devoid of others, and Spyro took advantage of the dearth to speed towards the exit. "The Maleficarum War just ended. Vitae is most certainly back on its feet now, in stark contrast to the other three countries, which are still trying to recuperate. If Vitae decided to declare war against _any_ of the other nations, then they would have very little difficulty in seizing them for their own. That would ruin the already-precarious political stability that we have right now, and probably plunge the Dragon Realms into another continental conflict, which we _really_ do not need right now."

Sparx scowled, trying to process what Spyro had said. The dragonfly was unfamiliar with politics, having been spared the political maelstrom that Spyro had been subject to. His only foray into that tangled world was from Spyro's own words, and the few chances he had been able to watch his brother debate with the Ambassadors, and even that had been to the dragonfly's distaste.

"So what do we do about it?"

Spyro shrugged in defeat, sighing despondently. "I have no idea. I don't think I _can_ do anything. Maybe all we can do is wait for the inevitable conflict to arrive."

Sparx chuckled, much to his brother's confusion. Spyro stared at him quizzically, but Sparx just grinned broadly. "Well hey, then it'll be like the old days," he began, boxing the air in front of him with clenched fists. "Just you and me, walking around beating up bad guys. Going into mortal danger every second day. Saving your tail from imminent death. You know, everything I hated about the War."

Spyro grinned at Sparx's antics, but he couldn't shake the cloud of foreboding. "While it sounds great to watch you make a fool of yourself again, I doubt I could participate if there was a war. I'm an arbiter, remember?"

"What do you mean?"

Spyro sighed for what must have been the umpteenth time that day, and gave Sparx a tired look. "I'm the purple dragon. I can't take sides in any _political debates_. If war was to break out, and I took a side, I'd lose all credibility. No one would listen to me anymore, and I'm sure quite a few extremist groups would be flinging the name "Malefor" around again."

Sparx grunted. "Yeah, as if! Anyone compares my brother to that psycho, I'll give 'em a good one right between the eyes!"

Spyro chuckled. "Last time you did that you knocked a pirate bird clean out."

Sparx smiled broadly, rubbing his chest with his fist in a display of pride. "Actually, last time I did it was at that stupid party you went to and that girl started trying to throw herself at you. Her boyfriend popped in at an inconvenient time and started getting angry at you, so he ended up with a nice bruise on the snout courtesy of me!"

"And then Cynder had to bail you out when he was about to incinerate you. I don't even think you bruised him. That guy was built like a tank, after all."

"I gave him a piece of my mind though."

"That you did. Try not to get killed next time you do though, ok? I'd hate to break the news to mom and dad."

By now the two brothers had exited the courtyard and had moved onto the paved, red streets of Warfang. It was a beautiful day – the sun was high in the sky, heating the streets like a frying pan, and the sparse clouds that dotted the sky kept well away from the glistering orb of the sun. Despite the heat, the cool southerly wind continued to blow, keeping the city's denizens fresh and rejuvenated. While people criss-crossed the street ahead of them, dodging carts and mingling with passers-by, the drake and dragonfly kept their attention towards each other, laughing and jesting and rapidly forgetting the concerns if the court as they swiftly lost themselves in the back alleys of the Dragon City.

- ҉ -

Cynder, as much as she detested it, had been couped up in the manor for the better part of the day. The sunny, bright, magnificent day lay outside the door down the hall, beckoning her, but despite having long been freed from chains it felt as though an unbreakable leash bound her to the floor, forcing her to endure the palpable boredom of _planning_. The dragoness found it difficult to believe that something that had once filled her with excitement now fed on her enthusiasm, sucking all motivation from her body and mind. Then again, in retrospect forming tactics and strategies for an upcoming campaign was far different from organising accommodation and ensuring that construction rights were still valid and accounted for. Cynder dreaded what would happen if she overlooked some pastoral or heritage claim that prevented the foundation from being laid. There were enough deliberations in order to claim the rights in the first place, let alone trying to circumvent them. For a moment, Cynder thought she understood Spyro's venomous disposition towards the bureaucratic nature of politics, and she shared it with equal disdain.

"Terrador, how long will this take?" She asked the elderly earth drake, who was sitting not too far away from her, a large stack of papers accumulating before him. At his side was Volteer, who himself was flicking through an assortment of blueprints and schematics, combing over their contents with a rapid eye. Cyril, however, was nowhere to be found, having gone off for parts unknown within the Manor. "These stupid legislations are starting to grind on my patience, which isn't necessarily known for being robust. What else needs to be done before preparations are complete?"

Terrador cleared his throat before speaking, not having spoken for over an hour now, and tidied his work before inclining his head towards Volteer. "Technically, all preparations are made. We simply wished to overview our progress to ensure that there are no mistakes or blunders that would hinder our progress."

Cynder looked dumbstruck. "So the last two hours of sifting through this skyscraper of paper has been for nothing?"

"No, Cynder," Terrador sighed. It was blatantly obvious that Cynder's frustration was beginning to wear off onto the earth dragon. "Do you want to have a rest? You're not obligated to assist, after all."

"Yes, please!" Cynder exclaimed, abandoning her trove of work and quickly disappearing down the hallway. Within moments she was on the terrace, leaning against the railing and enjoying the cool breeze against her scales. _Ah, finally,_ she thought, spreading her wings to completely soak up the midday sun. Her black scales absorbed heat more rapidly than other scale hues, and the contrast between the crisp wind and the burning sun kept her mild and refreshed. _One minute more inside and I think I would've gone into a coma from boredom._

In actuality, as much as Cynder was grateful to be released from Terrador's request, his words had stung her more than they should. It _felt_ as though she had to help. Every time the Guardians, or Spyro, or Hunter, or someone else she knew asked for her assistance with something, no matter how tedious, boring or arduous it was, Cynder felt obligated to help in any way she could. The crimes from her enslavement continued to weigh her down, and being as generous as possible was the only relief Cynder knew of. Even enjoying the day out on the balcony as she was, blissfully ignorant of her duties, a tiny thorn of guilt pierced her solace.

Cynder really didn't have much to do otherwise. Beyond helping her friends and those she was indebted to, the black dragoness had very little to occupy her time with. Inebriated partying and charity balls weren't common occurrences, and the former option always left a sour taste in her mouth that she had grown to loathe enough to stay away from it, and yet beyond that she had no official "duties" or "responsibilities" to disrupt her youthful freedom. Unlike Spyro, who deliberated with the Ambassadors day-in and day-out, or the Guardians, who had their hands full with trying to reinvigorate their spiritual duties, or even Sparx, who was kept busy with his missionary duties between his hometown – if it could be called that – and Nubila, Cynder had no position that required her attention or mantle that she was required to uphold. Any other adolescent would have begged for her life, but Cynder had other restrictions that stopped her from enjoying her time.

Key among them was mistrust. Most attitudes towards her had mellowed out over the three years since the Maleficarum War, but there was still an extremist or two that felt compelled to call her out whenever she revealed herself in public. She could always pinpoint them in a crowd, staring at her with intensive glares, but with the steadfast aegis of Spyro's presence they were far more hesitant to call her out or mention her past. Without him, however, they would throw insults as freely as charity, and it infuriated her.

The sharp clamour of the door sliding open shattered Cynder's reverie, and the dragoness was shocked when she turned to see the aged, icy blue, relatively frail figure of Cyril coming to rest next to her flank, opting to lie down rather than rest against the railing like her.

"Where have you been?" Cynder asked, rather surprised by his sudden appearance. "Don't you have something to do with the other Guardians?"

Cyril snorted, frowning at the dragoness' tone. "Watch your tone Cynder. That's not the way you address an elder."

Cynder chuckled darkly. "Right. I've always cared about respecting my elders, after all."

Cyril retained his disposition, but a slight smirk began to tug at his snout. "Ah yes, always the reverent one, you. To answer your question, even I tire of such meaningless work after a time. I've grown accustomed to dodging the responsibility, much like you have."

"Well, that explains your absence," Cynder laughed. The mirth quickly disappeared from her disposition, however, and Cynder quickly reverted to her tired, solemn expression as she gazed out over the City. Cyril noticed her mood, and the aged ice drake frowned in both curiosity and, surprisingly, worry.

"Cynder, something plagues you. May I help on the matter?"

The dragoness shook her head, immediately hardening her expression to hide her thoughts. "Nothing's wrong Cyril. I'm fine."

Cyril scoffed. "Young lady, I've lived for over a century. I've met and mingled with many a people, famous and infamous both. I've dealt with my fair share of grief and difficulty. Do not think that even for a second you can hide your mood from me. You are far easier to read than you seem to proclaim."

Cynder simply stared at the Guardian with a look of mild shock painting her face, before sighing in frustrating and gripping her forehead. "Cyril, I don't think I've ever seen you try and reach out to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing," he dodged. "Every _other_ time I seek to help you simply go to Terrador or Spyro instead of me. Granted, I hardly blame you, but that doesn't meant I don't wish to help you."

"Fine," Cynder began, gritting her teeth in frustration before sighing for a second time. Perhaps it would help if she told someone, _anyone_ about her problems. "I just…I don't know what I'm doing with myself. All around me I have friends who have responsibilities, who are doing something for themselves. Just look at Spyro, or you Guardians, or Hunter, or ancestors forbid, Sparx! You're all doing something to help others, or at least to keep you occupied. What am I doing? I have no position, no career, and it frustrates me."

Cyril hummed, pondering his next move. Cynder simply sat patiently, removing herself from the railing and curling up in a sunny spot not too far from the ice dragon. The wind had softened slightly, but it nevertheless kept her cool. "Well, this is a problem that strikes every hatchling at some point before adulthood," he elucidated. "Fortunately for most of your friends, circumstances put them in a position where they have something to occupy themselves, although for some I doubt it is of a favourable or enjoyable nature. To begin with, you should consider what you enjoy doing. Hobbies, pastimes, anything that occupies your time."

Cynder supported her head with a paw, scratching at her chin idly as she thought. "Well, the first thing that comes to mind is battle. One of the few things I look forward to is the weekly sparring session I have with Spyro. He always keeps me on my toes and fighting is something I have skill in, for obvious reasons." A forlorn groan escaped her muzzle. "Other than that…I don't know. I've always loathed working as a secretary for the Guardians, and as important Spyro is to me I hate being around the court just as much as him. I guess there are a few things that might interest me, but I've never actually _done_ them so I have no idea what to expect."

"It there truly nothing else that interests you?"

Cynder chuckled. "Dancing maybe."

Cyril folded his paws, shifting himself more comfortably. Cynder waited patiently as he thought, his eyes closed in concentration. "Well, I can always suggest that you search around, perhaps dipping your toes into an area that interests you. You have plenty of time to make mistakes and find your true calling, for you are still young and finding your way in the world. The interesting circumstances of your upbringing only grant you more leeway than others. However…" Cyril stared at Cynder with a curiosity that sent a shiver down her spine. "Another option comes to mind."

"What is it?" Cynder queried hesitantly.

"Have you ever thought about looking for a mate? Settling down, perhaps?"

It took Cynder every ounce of willpower to avoid rolling her eyes. The sheer audacity of what Cyril had just said struck her with the force of a boulder, and she clamped her laws on the balcony floor with enough force to crack the stone. "Really, Cyril? That's what you suggest?"

Cyril chuckled. "It's only one path you could choose. Only trying to help, dear."

"For your own amusement, I'm sure," Cynder spat back, forcefully hiding her own entertained grin. She had to hand it to the old drake, he knew what buttons to push to make her both laugh and groan. "Seriously, Cyril, I'm a young girl who is too independent for her own good. Who could you see me settling down with, really?"

In retrospect Cynder really shouldn't have asked that question, for even before Cyril opened his mouth the dragoness knew what his answer would be. Alas, it was too late for her to change her mind.

"Well, beyond the obvious Cynder," he muttered, flashing a knowing grin in Cynder's direction. "Do you truly believe that you hide your affections for our purple friend well enough so as to fool us?"

Cynder's head fell to the floor, resting comfortably in the crook of her arms. Her tail fidgeted slightly, a clear sign of her discontent. "Am I that obvious?"

"Your infatuation is not difficult to see, no."

"If it's so obvious to everyone else, why can't Spyro see it?" Cynder snarled, clutching her forehead with a claw tightly in frustration. "It's been three years, Cyril. Three long, forsaken years for him to at least acknowledge how I feel, and he's barely said a word on the matter. Doesn't he know? Is he that oblivious? He's smarter than that, I know it, so why doesn't he talk to me about it?"

Cyril shrugged. "Perhaps he is scared. I know one or two people who have been afraid to confess their feelings to someone they loved." The elderly drake sighed deeply, letting loose a gentle torrent of cold air. His gaze drifted towards the manor, staring at the two other dragons still sitting comfortably within. "Sadly, I cannot say it had a happy ending."

"So what do you suggest I do, Cyril?"

"Why don't you confront him yourself?" Cyril posed, poking the dragoness in the chest gently with a claw, taking caution as to not injure her with his much larger limb. "It may not be expected of a woman to ask a man, but at the very least it will make him aware of how you're feeling, or, if he _has_ known this entire time, force him to acknowledge you."

"But that frightens me," Cynder countered. "What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I've wasted these past three years for nothing?"

The clatter of a door opening emanating from within the manor interrupted the conversation, jolting Cynder back into alertness. Both she and Cyril jumped to their feet, staring at each other quizzically, before opening the door to the manor and entering, swiftly making their way to the living room. When Cynder turned a corner in the hallway, only to see a lavender-hued figure standing opposite of Terrador and Volteer, her eyes widened and she gasped in surprise.

"Spyro? What are you doing here?"

To the dragoness' shock, piles of paper and schematics were still scattered around the floor and table, no effort having been spared to hide them. From the equally-surprised expressions of Volteer and Terrador, Cynder dared to assume that Spyro's entrance had caught them unguarded as well. The purple dragon himself merely stood at the entrance to the living room, gazing at the mess with a profound sense of confusion smeared across his face. Sparx hovered next to him, his hands covering his mouth in horror.

_Well, there goes the surprise,_ Cynder thought derisively.

"I…" Spyro began, faltering as he tried to take in his surroundings. "I guess I got out early. What's all this? Why is the place such a mess?"

Cyril stood forward. "Erm, we were…planning."

Volteer stood up, dusting himself off and tidying his work. "I do see that our surprise is markedly ruined do to your unfortunate timing, young Spyro." When Spyro's confused expression turned guilty, the electric dragon held up a wing. "Feel not sorry, nor guilty, nor apologetic, Spyro. It was not your fault you arrived."

"This is meant to be a surprise?" Spyro asked, still utterly confused. "All I see are schematics and forms. What's this for?"

"It is a project we have been working on for quite some time," Terrador explained, his baritone voice a welcome change from Volteer's ecstatic and Cyril's haughty. "A reconstruction project, to be precise. We kept it secret from you due to the nature of the building we are attempting to restore – it happens to be your old home, for however long you spent there, and a place of knowledge and safety."

It took a moment for the realisation to click in Spyro's mind, but when it did the awe was apparent. "You're rebuilding the Dragon Temple?"

Cyril's affirmative nod only spurred him on. "This…this is great! Why did you need to hide it from me?"

"It was _supposed_ to be a surprise for you," Cynder said, glaring venomously at Sparx, who was now hiding behind the safe, red sanctuary of Spyro's wing. "We didn't expect you to be back from the court so soon though, so we thought we had more time to prepare. Obviously our little watchman forgot the whole reason we sent him with you, to stall should something happen."

Spyro turned and looked at his brother with a mixture of amusement and protectiveness. Sparx, in the meantime, was safely hiding from the deathly overtures of Cynder's lethal expression.

"I'm sorry! Things slip my mind sometimes!" He pleaded.

"Anyway," Spyro said, waving away the issue of Sparx and continuing. "Either way, it's great news. I'm glad that it's being rebuilt, although I wonder why it's only just being proposed."

"After the War, the Four Nations and Warfang itself were in such a state of shock to make a sustained re-materialisation improbable and enormously insignificant when taking the concerns of the populace of the Dragon Realms into consideration," Volteer elucidated, his electric tongue wagging once more. Cynder wondered how Terrador had put up with it all on his own. "Now that time has marched on and many of the festering wounds that plagued the nations have been closed or covered up, only now has a proper expedition to see the Dragon Temple reformed been considered in the realm of possibility."

"And we have elected to seize the opportunity," Cyril interjected before Volteer could continue speaking. "We were intending to have you lead the project, in fact. It is, after all, as much your home as ours."

"Thank you," Spyro said, his voice filled with gratitude and his facing mirroring such feelings. "That means a lot to me. What have we decided so far though? I'd like to know the details."

"If you'll allow an old drake to bore you with statistics," Terrador began, gesturing to the sheets and figures that covered the table. Everyone quickly took a seat before Terrador continued, with Cynder placing herself firmly next to Spyro. Terrador handed Spyro several sheets and began to explain. "We've been in discussion with the Ambassadors for some time now. The old Temple was in Nubila, and for a change in scenery – and to appease the other nations somewhat – we have decided that the new Temple will be located in central Vitae, along the tundra."

"I can't imagine the other Ambassadors took that well," Spyro commented, perusing the sheets with interest. Cynder smirked in amusement, seeing Spyro's quizzical gaze and empathising with his confusion as to the contents of the sheet. He had no idea what he was reading.

"Indeed it most certainly was," Volteer confirmed. "But we somehow managed."

"How long until we can start? I'm eager to get out of Warfang as soon as possible, to be honest."

"We should be ready tomorrow, hatchling," Cyril answered, smiling at Spyro's brightening face. "I thought that might excite you. We have been planning this for several months now, keep in mind. We have everything ready for a departure tomorrow – labourers, quartermasters, supplies, transportation, permission – all we need is the go-ahead from you."

"Why bother asking?" Spyro said, an audible laughed escaping as he gripped the table in his joy. Cynder stood back slightly, happy and smiling warmly at his intensity. "I'm ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning!"

"You'd better pack your bags then, young drake," Terrador advised. "You as well Cynder. We'll visit you tomorrow morning then, and we'll leave about midday, assuming everything goes according to plan. Which it rarely does."

Cynder smiled. "Ah, just think of it Spyro," she commented, addressing Spyro directly as the Guardians began to clean up the table, a task that she did not envy. "It'll just be you, me, maybe Sparx-" she waited as Sparx interjected with a hurt "Hey!" before continuing- "All alone in the countryside, working on what we do best, eh? How does that sound to you?"

Cynder watched Spyro's reply carefully, but the hero was too distracted by his excitement for the morrow to see the hidden test behind Cynder's words. "Are you joking? I can't wait!"

And that was what she wanted to hear.


	5. Chapter 1 - Obscured Fate

It's usually easy for me to write these two characters, but this chapter was just painful in general. Oh well, enjoy more blatant foreshadowing. At least things are starting to move along nicely!

Ignitus is fun to write!

* * *

Obscured Fate

In the blue radiance of the room, the elder drake's own bright blue scales shone with an intensity to rival the full moon. The circular antechamber, constructed of mystical blue stone and carved flawlessly, illuminated by the enormous, cylindrical hourglass in the centre whose sand glowed a brilliant, crystalline blue to match the spirit gems dragons were so renowned for, was surrounded by innumerable shelves littered with ancient tomes and preserved curiosities collected by those who oversaw the chamber countless eons before. The drake stood next to the hourglass, which stood much taller than the already impressively sized male, staring into its glow with intensity rarely seen even from those of unmatched will. The sand – if it even was sand – trickled down seemingly uninterrupted, but the elderly male could easily see the slight disturbances within the cascading blue flow, his eyes specially trained to seek such pauses.

The drake turned his head in defeat, a barely audible sigh emanating from his throat. With the flick of a wing, one of the books among the shelves, so similar to every other so as to be indiscernible among the tide of tomes, flew from its rest as if tugged by a powerful thread, almost dancing through the air as it came to rest beside the old drake. With a nod of his head the pages began to flicker past, coming to rest somewhere in the centre beginning of the tome. The dragon dearly wished to continue through the manuscript, begging to see the future, but even one as powerful as he could not discern what was yet to happen through the confused, indecipherable ramblings within that detailed many possible futures. His omniscience was one of temporal conditionality, as the runic diction foretelling time beyond was as of yet unreadable to the amateur Chronicler.

The book in question detailed the life of a lavender-hued dragon, just shy of twenty one years of age. Not three years ago had his book been filled with chaos, a tired old man rushing to pen his present as the world fractured around him. For the three years prior that, he had been frozen in time, left to rest in peace without the demanding snare of life to disturb his slumber. Within this span his tome sat empty, nothing but a graph to dictate his bodily growth and a painting of his crystalline prison. It saddened the old dragon to see three empty years of the purple dragon's life, such a crucial time forfeited due to his own haste. A fang of guilt struck the silvery drake as he gazed at the sketch, silently wishing he had prepared more thoroughly, but he quickly set such grim thoughts aside as he commanded a multitude of other tomes to his side. The mantle of the Chronicler demanded much time to oneself, and the introspection that came with it, and this incarnation had been determined not to fall into the depressed and solemn haze that had claimed his predecessor. Through no fault of his own the silver drake had long since lost his sense of hope from overseeing such a tumultuous and painful era, but Ignitus couldn't afford such a cost – to him, hope was all he had.

Not for the first time the former fire dragon was thankful that the old Chronicler was granted rest after millennia of wearing the mantle. Their master was a fickle succubus, after all, tempting further service through false promises of assurance and omniscience. If they ever found a specimen they favoured, they would do all in their power to keep them by their side. A shudder ran down Ignitus' spine as he realised, not for the first time, that he was among those favoured few, though such a grand misnomer had never been matched.

Gazing at Spyro's book one last time, solemnly concealing its contents from his view, Ignitus felt the remembered fear he had witnessed for his surrogate son once more. Had the drake not convinced them to release the boy from their collection, he hadn't a doubt in his mind that Cynder would never have found the will to reach the surface once more, alongside the obvious ramifications of Spyro's death. In truth, even he hadn't a firm grasp of the power Spyro unleashed – his words of encouragement, crossing all of space's width to reach the young dragon, had been a desperate attempt to convince him of his power, whatever limits it may have. Perhaps only Ignitus' master knew of the power Spyro had been granted, and in turn all purple dragons wielded, and perhaps his own words had been inspired by his master's subtle urging, but either way Ignitus finally understood why they had gone to such lengths to see a rogue purple dragon defeated. If such power was to be used without their guidance, the calamity that would follow would be unfathomable. But knowing them, they had fail safes in place that they trusted no one with, other than perhaps Ignitus. Time would tell if they would open themself to the new Chronicler – he had plenty to occupy, and his bout as overseer was still a brief one.

Displacing Spyro's tome, Ignitus turned to the next in line, flicking through the yellowed paged with a lack of urgency. Resting upon the most recent page, the Chronicler examined the information that lay before him – a dragoness, barely months older than her friend the purple dragon and just exceeding twenty one years, with black scales and a past to match her dark hue. Her trials had been similar to Spyro's if more arduous, but the forlorn gaze with which Ignitus gazed at her image was altogether different to the fatherly atmosphere he had shared with Spyro's tome. His reminiscent stare was one of regret, longing to absolve, but his target for such feelings were not solely directed at the dragoness before him, but one of similar visage. And yet, as he displaced Cynder's tome, he knew such thoughts were useless, for although she remained the only friend not of the Guardians to be among the living, reconciliation was out of his reach.

_How much she looks like her mother,_ Ignitus pondered, wistfully tracing a claw over the hard front binding of the book. _Perhaps that is why Malefor corrupted her so. His memories of her couldn't be of pleasant times, and knowing his volatile temper he no doubt wished to expunge any and all traces of us from his mind. But then, the question remains if he remembered anything at all…_

Banishing both volumes back to their respective places upon the endless bookshelves, where they sat side-by-side, Ignitus turned and resumed his vigilant watch of the hourglass, still trickling away in an infinite loop that would never be interrupted. Though time itself was not bound to the monument, it served as an adequate window as to the timeline's structure. In the short window of time Ignitus had been instructed upon his duties, never once had he been told that the hourglass had ever broken or been interrupted. As much folly as it would be to assume, the Chronicler doubted anything would change. Time was, to his knowledge, impossible to break. Manipulation was a certain capability yes, as both he and Spyro could attest to, but to bend it? Ignitus felt it was unimaginable.

But the hourglass was not what Ignitus sought. With another wave of his wing, the entire chamber began to rumble ever so slightly, disturbing the shroud of silence that had long permeated the air. With a sluggish speed that would have any other dragon fidgeting with impatience, the hourglass began to rotate, and lower, a small opening sliding back beneath the structure. The monument slowly disappeared beneath the stone floor, and the braces that surrounded it broke off from the ground and folded upwards, bending from invisible joints. They formed a small, stone chandelier atop the ceiling, the circular centre formation sliding open, and from that black slot burst forth a single, brilliant orb of pale cyan light. Ignitus squinted his eyes as the sphere settled halfway betwixt the ground and ceiling, hovering calmly, awaiting his command. The orb shone with a brilliance that concealed the secrets held within, a map of fate for all whom existed within its embrace. With one last sweep of his wing, Ignitus commanded the knowledge within to reveal itself, and with a magnificent flash rivalled by none bar the sun the orb spread its web across the room, splintering into thousands upon millions of smaller, but still piercing lights that scattered throughout the antechamber.

Between these millions of starry dots lie near-unseeable lines of white, star maps and constellations of connections. But unlike constellations, stars joined by imagined strokes of mortals, these webs were of a far greater import – every shining light was a sentient life, whether it be dragon, mole, cheetah or other species, and every light had hundreds of connections, the strength of these lines betraying the strength of the bond. The brighter the light, the more important the life and the more connections it had with the world around it. Several lights shone almost as bright as the initial orb, illuminating the room with a soft cyan glow, and Ignitus knew who they belonged to with a certainty born of experience.

But unlike the original sphere of light, which glittered with an unmarked, gentle cerulean, the greater portion of the life-map had a deep, maroon tint smothering the scattered lights. Indeed, some of these pinpricks no longer glowed blue, instead shining a dangerous, unrestrained red – these lives had been thrown off course, diverted from the path destiny had set. From these broken lights, every life connected to them was affected in some way – some were fortunate, left to glow a bright blue-purple, while others were consumed with a rich crimson, a lost cause for fate.

For the past three years, the lights that meant the most to Ignitus – those of Spyro, Cynder, and his dear friends the Guardians, had only grown stronger and brighter. But despite his best efforts to nudge them along the correct path – an urge here, a feeling there, an instinct in the right place or a whisper of thought at the right time – they all, without a difference, burned a painful, dark red. No matter what the Chronicler had done to help them, they had continually remained off of his master's intended path. If there was any consolation, the life-map had, overall, developed a stronger blue tint than a red one during his time as overseer. Even the lights of his friends were more scarlet than red, perhaps as a grace of possessing the fortune to avoid contact with the one causing such a rift in fate, but Ignitus could not dispel the worry that coursed through his bones.

What disturbed Ignitus the most, however, was the fiery, blood-stained nebulae that consumed a great portion of the map. Unlike the stars surrounding it, the nebulae lacked any links whatsoever – after all, the map could only accurately portray those crafted by his master. Foreign beings were unknowable to this tool. Near the heart of the spidery tendrils, however, lay a bright pinprick of orange, glowing fiercely alongside the embrace of red. It had precious few links, and the ones that did remain were weak and inconsequential – a passing glance, or a stray thought, nothing on the level of even a conversation or greeting. Within the stray folds lay another, smaller cloud, this one icy cold and compact, more an orb of self-contained malignance than a dangerous cancer spreading through the constellations.

Ignitus did not need his omniscience to know who the nebulae stood for. He had met, and fought with, the cause of the disturbance on more than one occasion.

_What are you planning,_ Ignitus mused, examining the red, spider-like nebulae with a fierce scowl. _What other destruction will you cause? Malefor was enough. Do we truly need to see more? Is your ever-so enigmatic goal finally within reach? Or shall you remain as unreadable as ever, you malicious demon?_

Ignitus banished the life-map, the expansive web of lights re-forming into the single, brilliant orb in the centre of the room, before quickly concealing itself once more within the compartment in the ceiling. However, the bracers remained aloft, and Ignitus commanded the depression in the floor to form another structure, one more useful for the take he was about to undertake. The circular bowl left from the hourglasses' absence began to fill with a clear, silvery-blue liquid, trickling in from small facets hidden among the concaved edges. It must have been over half an hour before the pool was adequately filled, but the minutes flew by with a swiftness that only one for which time had become irrelevant would ever know. When the surface of the water stilled, Ignitus stared into its depths, squinting slightly as shapes began to form within the reflection, shifting and changing to match the vista he desired.

_Very well, Dyan,_ he thought, the painting on the surface beginning to take shape. _If you wish to play your game of riddles once more, I shall gladly humour you._

- ҉ -

A valley rested in between two great stone mountains, acting as guardians for the isolated sanctuary within a stretch of jagged, stone claws. Specks of snow fell from the white clouds that concealed the blue ocean of the sky, painting the valley beneath it with a thin sheet of pale ice. Patches of dark, frosted grass and gnarled trees that were just barely living poked through the expanse of snow, giving the area some semblance of life. Areas of grass were swallowed by bulging masses of trees and other sprouting plants, hiding much of the valley from the creatures of the sky.

It was within one of these shadowed vales that a creature was stirring. Behind the safe veil of shivering trees and the shadows they cast, a young, midnight blue drake was throwing up dirt and grass, digging into the frozen ground with a methodical pace. His form was thin, but nevertheless muscular and devoid of fat, slender yet strong. His scales, only slightly lighter than the night sky and far more saturated, contrasted brightly with his pale white, plated underbelly. Curved, jet-black horns protruded from the back of his skull, bending smoothly inwards. His tail tip was unadorned, but down his back was a perfect row of polished white spines that reached from the base of his neck to partway down his tail. The back of his wings were a black to match his horns, and the underside of the membrane shared a slightly paler hue, topped by a pair of white spines. All in all, he was a fairly uninteresting specimen.

That was, if someone elected to ignore the multitude of hairline markings that traced his body, following the contours of his muscles and shape. These hairline cracks were a dull orange, almost brown, but nevertheless highly noticeable. Against the darkness of his scales, they shone like cracks of lava, casting an ethereal, orange-red light on his frigid surroundings.

The drake, who couldn't have been older than twenty, abandoned his digging once it had become a sizeable pit and moved over to the deer carcass that lie not too far away. Its throat had been torn and a leg looked as though it had been burned, but the drake ignored the imperfections as he grasped a hind leg with his jaws and pulled the body into the pit, covering it with a large mass of dirt and leaves. Standing back to gaze upon his work, the drake sighed and rapidly examined the near-flat pile of leaves in front of him, confident that it had been sufficiently hidden from other wandering predators, and was preserved for later use.

The crack of a twig was the only warning he received. It was enough.

The drake ducked immediately, flattening his body against the ground as a superheated ball of fire rocketed out from the foliage, engulfing the space that he had just occupied. The heat scorched the scales on his back and charred his spikes, but he ignored the discomfort as he leapt out of the way the first moment that was presented, pulling his body into a battle-ready position. Another fireball was sent his way, and as he again leapt out of its path he noticed its origin – a small group of bushes and roots not too far away – and as he pulled himself to his feet again the drake opened his mouth and sent a bolt of bright, fiery energy into the underbrush. As he did, the river of dark brown markings that paved his body lit up brightly, flashing in a bright, orange light. A gasp of pain emanated from the foliage as the bolt struck, erupting with a cascade of red-hot oil and sputtering flames, but the drake had no time to bathe in his victory as a figure burst from cover and hurtled towards him, a large, wicked halberd held in an armoured hand.

As the halberd was swung at him the drake disappeared in an explosion of black, acrid smoke. The figure that attacked him, a cloaked, humanoid figure, skidded to a stop and turned rapidly, watching as a trail of darkness traced itself along the ground, imploding a fair distance away as the drake rematerialized. Wasting no time, the figure launched another bolt of fire towards the drake's general direction, the writhing sphere of chaotic energy bursting forth from his plated palm. Unfortunately for the dragon, rematerializing had left him disorientated, and although he made an effort to swing himself to one side the small fireball impacted on a tree next to him and exploded, sending him hurtling through the air and into the trunk of another small tree where he cried out in pain. Collapsing to the ground, smoke trailing off of burns on his body, the drake let out a pained sigh as the humanoid disappeared in a flash of fire and reappeared next to him, placing an armoured boot on his stomach and holding the halberd up to his throat threateningly, scraping his jaw with the lance tip.

"You lose, Irres."

Dyan lifted and swung the halberd in the blink of an eye, embedding it in the tree trunk only slightly above Irres' head with an audible _thud_. The drake flinched and covered his ears, squinting his eyes shut as Dyan removed the halberd from the tree and banished it, the polearm disappearing as a tongue of fire encased it.

"Well done," Dyan continued, walking away from Irres as he shakily rose to his feet. "You did very admirably this time. The next chance you get, however, you may wish to move further away before you materialize. That brief moment of stupefaction is a vital moment that your opponent may abuse to their liking, as I demonstrated. You would do well to minimise any possible openings you may present."

Irres shook his head, grasping it gently with one of his paws. His markings flickered dimly as his sense of self slowly returned to him, casting a continuous orange light onto his pale white surroundings.. "'Tis slightly difficult to accurately judge distance when one's eyes are covered in a film of black, father," he replied, following Dyan over to a particularly large tree, standing on the edge of the frosted thicket that surrounded the clearing. "S'there more advice you have for my performance?"

"Yes, there is," Dyan answered, grasping the tree as he hauled himself up into its branches. "One moment, allow me to procure kindling from the house."

As Dyan pulled himself up into the ramshackle house that rested within a fork in the tree branches, leaping from branch to branch with an agility that seemed to contradict his size, Irres waited patiently on the ground next to the pile of leaves that obscured his kill, watching his surroundings for any signs of movement. He would not be taken by surprise again, and he knew his father was a master of unexpected strikes. The tiny building, barely more than a collection of wooden planks placed haphazardly in the fork of the tree, hung precariously over the snowing clearing. It was supported by a group of beams leant against the gnarled trunk, and somehow it managed to support its weight. When Dyan re-emerged from the broken mess of a 'house', Irres patiently resumed his studious listening as he landed next to him with a deftness of movement that seemed unnatural. In his arms hung several large logs, stripped of bark and left with a pale smoothness.

"Your form is the greatest praise I can offer you. You move and flow from one position to the next, dancing around the field of battle with a grace and agility I have rarely seen." Irres beamed from the praise, a smile tugging at his snout, but he forced himself to remain terse and kept himself forcibly still, despite the urge to grin like a fool. "Despite this, you require situational decision-making skills. From the past three spars we have shared, you have been relying far too much on magic in order to whisk you away from danger or to retaliate from an attack, and this presents problems for those who feint an attack. You must learn to adapt to the situation, and if nothing else you should limit your magic to uninterrupted attacks or augmentations to your physical prowess. Extravagant displays of raw elemental power may be cathartic and awe-inspiring, but they are impractical and leave the user open to an array of counterattacks for those who remain unfazed by the sheer might they wield."

Irres nodded. "Less magic. I understand."

"Not necessarily less magic, simply wiser use of what you have," Dyan corrected, sitting cross-legged in the centre of the snowy clearing. With the constant flakes of snow fall from the sky, a small film of ice can settled over Dyan's body and armour, leaving him with a shiny white glow to match his surroundings. After a quick gaze at himself, Irres noticed the ice beginning to pile on his back, and gave himself a rough shake to remove it. You have an over-reliance upon it, and if you continue with this trend no doubt you will burn yourself out. One of the worst things that can happen during a prolonged conflict is exhausting your magical supply. Even if you feel yourself growing faint of energy, keep a store of magic large enough to use evasive measures should the need arise. As important as it is to succeed in your goal, you should always have your survival as a top priority."

Dyan scattered the logs in a roughly circular formation, digging away the gathering layer of snow to expose the rough, but dry ground beneath it. With a click of his gloved fingers, the pile of wood burst into flame, tongues of orange dancing around the cylindrical pieces with a rhythm that betrayed their unnatural origin. Irres, long since comfortable with such displays of magic, dug a small hollow in the snow across from the flames and sat down, warming himself against the flames of the campfire. Dyan leant over towards the pile of leaves and dirt where Irres had buried his kill and began to uncover it, brushing stray dirt from the short fur of the deer. He pulled a long, skinning knife from the folds of his cloak and began to methodically strip the carcass of its skin, leaving the unneeded carrion in a small pile next to him. Irres occupied this waiting time by staring into the fire, feeling a strange sense of calmness wafting from the dancing shapes.

Despite this, Irres noticed his father's work and frowned slightly. "Father, are you joining me for a meal?"

Dyan barely nodded, his hood dipping slightly in acknowledgement. "For the next few days, at bare minimum."

Irres beamed. It was rare that his father would join him for supper, and even rarer than he would choose to prepare it. In all of Irres' memory, he couldn't pinpoint a single instance where his father had ever eaten in front of him, and the young adolescent drake had long since accepted the fact that Dyan needed no sustenance, seemingly perpetually fit and energised. Even sleep seemed inconsequential to him. In the nascent years of Irres' short life, Dyan had occasionally chosen to rest with Irres, when nightmares borne of childish fears struck him in the dark hours of the moon's reign. His father had quickly weaned him off of such habits, claiming it a weakness he would not stomach, but behind those seemingly-harsh words Irres knew that Dyan had only wanted his independence to flourish. Indeed, Irres had long since grown accustomed to his father's sporadic disappearances, sustaining both his hunger and amusement alone in the isolated valley and the impossibly flat tundra that lay beyond it. Dyan had on more than one occasion warned Irres of the dangers beyond home, but never had he forcibly forbidden him from venturing forth. It seemed that, despite his father's misgivings of the outside world, he secretly preferred to see his child explore beyond. After all, Irres could easily handle himself against any threats that nature posed, but it wasn't the local wildlife that Irres, and by extension his father, grew anxious over.

Dyan had finished skinning the deer, and had now advanced to cooking it over the open flame. Openly, Irres wondered how long it had been since Dyan had last returned home. To the best of Irres' knowledge, Dyan had left roughly a week ago on his own mysterious agenda, an event that was not uncommon. Since then Irres had honed his skills, as was his favourite pastime, but being bereft of Dyan's criticism had its limits. Without his father's instruction, Irres found himself advancing very little, only able to master his vast store of skills and techniques. Of course, experimentation over the years had led to the young drake inventing his own unique abilities, but although Dyan praised his ingenuity and creativity, never had he encouraged further attempts at his own personal brand of combat. The positive was that he never discouraged them either. In the end, Irres was simply glad to have his father back, for even as inured to loneliness as he was, company was never refused.

"Here, Irres," Dyan spoke, interrupting Irres' train of thought. He held out a hand in offering, a large, steaming piece of meat sitting temptingly in his palm. Irres heard his stomach growl quietly, and only then did the young drake realise his hunger, graciously taking the meal. "Eat well. I want you to be vitalised and prepared for tomorrow."

In between tearing pieces from his meal with relish, Irres queried "Prepared for what in particular, father?"

Dyan sighed, burying the rest of the deer back in the ditch, covering the exposed carrion with leaves and dirt to hide the scent, before sitting opposite Irres on the other side of the fire pit. "There is an adamant need to accelerate your training. Thus, you shall be instructed on the more advanced techniques in your physical arsenal. You are quite the petit soldier, considering the time you have trained, but you need to fine-tune your reaction time and responses."

Irres hid a wince, a habitual act borne from repetition. The drake had never enjoyed physical virtues, preferring the finer, intellectual points of magical theory and practice, but his father had never tired in stressing their importance as opposed to Irres' preference for the profane skills. It was not uncommon for him to shirk his practice, running off to some distant vale in the valley to experiment with his dual elements at will. From his father's tales of the outside world, and his own sporadic experiences with those of civilization, any dragon with more than one element was considered an extreme oddity. Although the problem had never arisen when with his father, alone in their isolation, but it made forays into cities and towns, for either training, experience or vital supplies quite risky for Irres. Thus, the drake often spent weeks at a time alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company.

Dyan's urgency struck an odd chord within Irres, however, and he paused his meal to gaze quizzically at his cloaked companion.

"What has caused such a need?" He queried, noticing the subtle shift in his father's posture. With his face obscured, Irres had been forced to find other ways to ascertain his father's moods, and even then his tells were unreliable and often incorrect. Dyan was truly an enigmatic man. "Not a month has passed since you last told me I required more time to prepare."

Dyan was unflinching. In his motionless position, the snow had built up along his shoulders and arms, almost covering the iron pauldron that sat on his left. "There are many reasons, Irres. Many and varied reasons, some of which you might not understand." His golden eyes settled on Irres and the drake immediately became more inquisitive at his father's evasive words, a small whisper of eagerness beginning to bloom inside him. "But the simplest explanation is that the stage is being set, and we need to be ready for our grand entrance. We don't have much time before then, not enough to teach you're the rest of your course, but hopefully it will be enough to master what you already know."

Irres lost control for a split second, letting an awe-filled gasp loose, his eyes wide in shock. "You are saying…we shall begin soon?"

Dyan nodded, his hood inclining towards Irres. "Yes. Everything shall be put into motion. Consider this your final trial before you are thrust into your intended role."

Several moments passed as Irres attempted to process the gravity of Dyan's words. The event that he had been training his entire life for was about to occur, and a wave of apprehension and excitement coursed through his veins, causing him to shiver visibly. His jagged markings flickered brightly, maintaining a constant glow that lent the clearing a visible, ethereal quality, and Irres immediately felt self-conscious and fought to keep his emotions under control. Nevertheless, his markings refused to dim entirely, and his father let loose a slight chuckled at his struggle.

"Another aspect you ought to work on, Irres," he began, gesturing towards his markings. "Is your emotional stability. Although your markings will no doubt confuse anyone you should encounter, it won't take long for them to realise how your thoughts play into the way they react. They're a definite sign for you, and that will put you at a disadvantage should you ever need to hide something, which I am certain you will given your nature. Perhaps we can begin with that tomorrow."

Irres nodded, a sheepish, innocent smile decorating his snout. However, Dyan noticed the flash of anxiety in his eyes, and stiff posture with which he sat, and the immobility of his tail, and Irres knew that he couldn't hide his anxiety.

"Are you nervous?" Dyan suggested, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. His reptilian eyes softened somewhat, lessening the almost predatory air that surrounded him. Irres swallowed, blinking rapidly to dispel his worry.

"Yes," he replied shortly. "I am excited, do not misunderstand my intentions…yet I never truly expected this day to come. A small fragment of my mind contained the preconception that our plan was a distant fantasy, something to scoff at. To be confronted by the reality of the situation is…daunting."

"I did not expect you to take this information lightly, so do not feel ashamed," Dyan assured, straightening his back. "But you must put it aside and focus on what remains of your training. It would have only taken a few more years to complete what I had planned for you, but alas we are unable to wait that long, both due to situational circumstances and…other pressures."

Irres was confused by his father's last words, but his befuddlement was quickly lost in his own anxiety and Dyan's rapid change of subject. The cloaked figure shook the stray snow from his body and stood up, throwing the icy powder onto the smouldering remains of the fire pit to douse it and hide the smoke it was producing. The thick canopy above them prevented most of the acrid substance from revealing their position, but Irres knew his father as an over-cautious one. Dyan held out a hand to his son, inviting him to stand.

"Come, Irres. We might get some reading done tonight, if nothing else."

- ҉ -

The night was a moonless one, the silver disk obfuscated by a thick layer of cloud. Outside the wind was howling, a gale forcing its way through the twisted branches of the forest and bringing with it sheets of ice borne from the frigid temperatures. Within the ramshackle treehouse, the wind shook its support and rattled the rafters, but somehow the midnight blue drake curled up in an ocean of blankets and sheets did not fear the uproar of the elements. He slept soundly next to a bookshelf, tomes of all shapes and sizes scattered around him in a makeshift ring. All windows had been shut tight, curtains drawn to hide the raging storm, but it was questionable as to whether Irres needed to be sheltered from its wrath to sleep as peacefully as he was now. As Dyan leaned against a doorframe, oblivious as to the snow that hammered his shoulder, he gazed at his son with a forlorn glint in his eyes. It wasn't common for the father to allow his son to abandon his studies for rest, but Dyan had allowed it just this once. Even as his harbinger, Irres was still a child by the standards of his race.

"Rest well, Irres," he said softly. "I'll be back soon."

The cloaked figure turned and left the house, closing the door behind him quietly so as not to awaken the boy within. The raging storm hammered him, covering him with snow within moments, but Dyan was unperturbed as he held up an armoured hand to shield his shadowed face from the raining icicles. The thick forest canopy hid the house from the worst the blizzard had to offer, but a thick layer of white powder still gathered upon the roof and surrounding branches, tugging at the gnarled hands of the tree with a dreary purpose.

Dyan leapt from the tree, bracing himself to land on the snow beneath him, and yet not halfway to the ground a tongue of fire consumed him, manifesting from nowhere, and instead of descending into the forest he instead found himself perched atop a red-bricked tower. The dome atop the enormous building was fractured in several places, three year old soot still clinging to the debris that was scattered around the attic, but Dyan was no troubled. He leapt atop the highest, broken spire he could find, crouching on fractured bricks, and stared out onto the city before him.

Warfang was unnaturally quiet tonight, few points of light breaking the ominous darkness of the skyline. But Dyan wasn't interested in the city tonight. He turned his attention to a particular building – a large manor sitting on the side of a hill, separated from the rest of the city by a long, winding pathway. Several lanterns could be seen lighting up the interior, and that was a clear sign of its occupants being awake. To the cloak man observing the building, that was a fortunate omen – his quarry was preparing to leave, and not a moment too soon.

Dyan placed a hand on his brow, over his hood, and sighed deeply. "Little purple drake, little black dragoness, how will you fare I wonder?"

When the whispering sound of snow falling interrupted his thoughts, Dyan turned to see Morrigan standing on a pillar of broken bricks, with the last breezes of snow disappearing from the edges of her robe. He barely gave her a nod, simply returning to his intensive vigil.

"Good evening, Morrigan," he stated nonchalantly. "What brings you here?"

"No smalltalk," Morrigan interrupted with her usual biting tone. She ignored Dyan's exasperated sigh and continued. "Is he ready?"

"He is as ready as he will ever be with the time you've offered," Dyan replied, scratching at the brick beneath him with his armoured hand. "If I may be so bold, I doubt he'll succeed."

"'Tis a fault born from your training. Do not seek to lay blame upon my deadlines. I only seek to keep you on schedule, not to hamper your efforts."

Dyan grunted. "It isn't his training that is the problem. A few days should suffice. The two little heroes will have moved by then, and we shall have a perfect entrance."

"What of the other? Your hunter?"

"While I place no guarantee on her appearance, it would not surprise me," Dyan commented. "I have the necessary triggers in place, ready to be fired. We simply wait for them to walk onstage now."

Morrigan lifted her upper lip in a sneer, but Dyan could see the smile that lay behind her cold exterior. "Good. I'm glad you're on course. See to it that you don't deviate anymore."

"I won't."


	6. Chapter 2 - Dogs of War

I'd like to apologise for the delay in the chapter. This Easter long weekend was a busy one, sadly. Alas, it seems I cannot even keep a schedule.

Nevertheless, enjoy the chapter! Now see if you can guess which character introduced will be important to the plot later on!

* * *

Dogs of War

The zeppelin hanger was an enormous place. Despite seemingly fitting within a relatively innocuous tower that sat on the edge of the docks leading to the Hollow Sea, the golden dragonfly that currently observed its innards was hard-pressed to believe that the gargantuan space actually lay within the building, for it had seemed much smaller from the outside. In a sense the hanger was exceedingly familiar to a dock, only instead of lying along the surface of a bay the entire area was layered upon itself, climbing high upwards beyond Sparx's sight. The wall to his right was covered in multiple elevators powered by steam and cogs, lifting its passengers up into the heights of the hanger where the largest of the zeppelins were stored. A multitude of platforms and walkways dotted the wall, each with a zeppelin hanging loosely from long, metal cables next to it, remaining aloft from their own power. Sparx's jaw hung wide open at the sight, still trying to process the enormity of the structure before him, which blotted out the rising sun behind it.

"Spyro!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air in excitement. "Look at this place! It's _huge!_ How long did it take to build it? How much did it cost? How many people died while it was built? Who thought of it in the first place?"

Sparx waited impatiently for several seconds until an answer was not forthcoming, and he turned around with a scowl painting his features only to see the giant purple lump that was his brother otherwise occupied with both a slightly larger dragon and a mole, discussing something inaudible to the dragonfly's ears. Frustrated by the lack of attention he was receiving, Sparx dove in front of Spyro's snout and flashed brightly, earning a pained "Ow!" from his brother and startled gasps from the two labourers he was conversing with.

"Ancestors, Sparx! What was that for?" He queried with restrained fury, rubbing his eyes with a forepaw as he staggered back a step. "I was in the middle of something!"

"Well, that _something_ is nowhere near as important as paying attention to your bro," Sparx retorted with cheek, gesturing to himself with both thumbs as the two labourers simply stared at him in both confusion and surprise. "Did you even hear a word I said? You're really bad at this 'sibling bonding' thing, y'know?"

Spyro dismissed the dragon and mole with a wave of his wing, gesturing behind the dragonfly, before shooting a filthy glare at his brother with great intensity. "Sparx, I never thought it possible, but I think you've grown _more_ impatient over the years. Can't you just calm down for one minute and let your ever-so-important brother attend to his duties? Being a purple dragon isn't all sunshine and rainbows, I'll have you know."

Sparx snorted in disbelief, crossing his tiny arms in a vain attempt to look authoritarian. "Pfft, yeah right Spyro. I know how much you've _loathed_ having everyone kiss your feet and listen to your every word, and how much you've _loathed_ having your own little mansion to yourself, and how much you've _loathed_ every girl in Warfang trying to mash their lips against your own. Geez, you have it so hard."

"Ooh, someone's learnt a new word," Spyro smirked, eliciting a disgruntled look from the dragonfly. "And no, I don't have girls falling into my lap. You know that better than anyone else here, what, when you get defensive every time one so much as tries to sit next to me at a party."

"My brother's not gonna settle for anything less than the best," Sparx defended, petting Spyro's forehead in mocking affection. "And that means that no downtown bimbo is coming anywhere near sweet, innocent, pure Spyro. Without mom and dad here to look after you, it's my job to ensure that you don't wake up one morning in a strange bed with no idea how you got there."

"Thank you Sparx, that's touching," he replied, sticking his tongue out in disgust. He was somewhat disturbed by the subject Sparx broached, but for the past few years Sparx had tried progressively worse topics in an attempt to gross his brother out – which worked flawlessly. Spyro simply put it up to the two of them growing older, but oftentimes he wondered if Sparx was trying too hard. "But I doubt it'd come to that. I'm a big boy – I can handle myself."

"'Big boy' my shining rear end," Sparx retorted. "You're still that little purple lump that happened to think he was a dragonfly until fire randomly started spewing from his mouth when he was fourteen."

Spyro sighed in exasperation, finding no discourse with his brother, and came to the conclusion that it would be better to the let the infuriating little pixie win this round. As the dragonfly danced around his field of vision, having begun a surprisingly long-winded speech about how it was his sworn duty as a member of Flash and Nina's family to serve as the protector of his family and some other similar nonsense, Spyro noticed a flicker of movement behind him – a herculean feat in itself considering the blinding torchlight that Sparx was emanating – and quickly identified the diminutive figure of Mason standing not too far away, along one of the lengthy boardwalks that sat by a floating zeppelin, serving as a link between the hanger wall and the floating transport.

"Alright Sparx, that's lovely and everything," Spyro interjected, holding up a wing in front of Sparx's mouth to halt his spiel. "But I'd like to discuss the last stages of our plan with Mason, so I'll let you finish your explanation later, ok?"

Sparx scowled once again, his hurt pride flaring up once more. He flung his arms up in defeat and groaned. "Fine, Spyro, later. It's not like what I have to say is _important_ or anything _silly_ like that."

Spyro just shook his head with a smile as Sparx floated off to someplace else, as letting his brother steam in his wounded pride for a time seemed like the best course of action for now. For as great company as Sparx was, sometimes it was best to leave him to work things out on his own. This wasn't the first time that Spyro had begun to think about his brother's behaviour – the past few years had made him far more analytical of other's personalities, and it had dawned on him that, despite the chaos that had comprised their adolescent years, Sparx had refused to grow up. No matter how darker or more morally dubious the dilemmas Spyro, Cynder and the others had been exposed to, Sparx seemed to retain his childish, almost carefree attitude towards…well, _everything._ It worried Spyro every now and then that Sparx had stayed in the past in terms of development, but for the moment everything seemed fine – at the very least, he kept the purple dragon's life optimistic and entertaining.

It only took a moment to close the distance between he and Mason, and soon enough he was standing by the mole architect's side, waiting patiently for him to finish whatever work was currently absorbing his attention. From what Spyro could see, Mason was staring at a large bundle of crates and barrels currently being lifted by a winch into the cargo bay of the zeppelin. In his hands was a clipboard with a piece of parchment attached, on which Mason was slowly ticking off a checklist with a fanciful, black and blue feathered quill. The list detailed the various different building materials to be used in construction, from many types of stone such as slate and obsidian to different assortments of timber and wood to be used for support. Carving tools were also on the list, no doubt for the creation of statues and other monuments of a similar sort in order to recreate the magnificence of the old statues.

Once the large pile of supplies had been successfully deposited into the cargo bay of the zeppelin, Mason barked an order towards the cheetah operating the crane above him and the long, curved hook was released, moving over to another similar crate that lay not too far away. When Mason turned, he jumped in shock upon finally noticing Spyro standing behind him, almost dropping the clipboard and letting loose a startled cry.

"Master Spyro!" He addressed quickly, adjusting his monocle. "While it is grand to see you again, I would ask you not to sneak up on an old mole like that! I've not that many years left, and I'd be grateful if you didn't shock me out of what few remain!"

Spyro chuckled, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. "Sorry Mason, I didn't mean to startle you. How are preparations going?"

Mason shook his shoulders and stood up straight, attempting to get the most out of his diminutive height. For once the architect, serving dual duty as the head of Warfang's guard division, had abandoned his ornate jade armour in favour of a far less extravagant overseer's garb, wearing black suspenders with a clean white shirt. Several pouches and flasks hung at his belt, as did an inkwell for his quill, a reflection of Mason constantly-prepared mindset. As always, his elaborate bronze monocle sat on his left eye, giving his usually weak eyesight much needed assistance. Similar to other moles, Mason's lavish moustache was glistening with the shine of recently applied gel, curling elaborately alongside his elongated snout.

"Loading supplies has continued without interruption, thank the ancestors," Mason began, examining his clipboard. "All required materials, rations and employees are accounted for, with no problems having arisen in terms of accommodations or baggage. In truth, young dragon, I did not expect the boarding process to have proceeded so smoothly. It is far too of'en than we run into difficulties, but this particular event has gone off without a hitch."

"You mean the universe is being kind to us for once?" Spyro remarked with a low chuckle. Mason responded in kind.

"So it'd seem, purple one. I consider ourselves lucky."

Spyro shrugged. "Eh, I'm sure something bad will happen later to balance this out. It's not like us to have good fortune."

Mason clapped his hands together, rubbing them warmly and smiling at the adolescent. "Come now Spyro, don't allow yourself to be clouded by pessimism so early in the mornin'! If a string of good fortune happens to bless us, I see no reason not to embrace it."

"That's true," the drake replied. "I guess it's just old habits rising up again. I still don't trust anything that comes without a price. It's always too good to be true."

"Life may surprise you sometimes," Mason added, roughly patting Spyro on the lower arm – the highest point Mason could manage. "To speak of surprises, I ought to ascertain something. You're well aware of your duties upon arrival, yessir?"

Spyro groaned slightly, scratching the side of his head with a wingtip idly. "I…guess? I figured I'd just be on guard duty. From what Hunter tells me, the place we've reserved for the Temple isn't the most populated of places, so you'll need someone to help keep the wildlife away."

"To put it simply, yes." Mason gestured for Spyro to follow him, moving away towards another zeppelin docked not too far from the one he had been overseeing. Spyro followed at a leisurely pace, giving the much smaller creature ample time to maintain the lead. "Considering your skillset, the Guardians deemed you best for guard duty, as trivial as it may be. Obviously you're welcome to help with the proper construction once the foundations have been laid and the materials prepared, but your most pressing concern upon arrival is clearing the area of hostile or dangerous indigenous wildlife."

Spyro drew a deep breath. "You don't happen to have a bestiary of some kind, do you? Right now I'm expecting bulb spiders or frogweeds, but I've a feeling in my gut that you're not talking about things as simple to kill as that."

Mason chuckled, a strange smile forming on his snout. "Oh no, dear Spyro, you'll be facing much worse than that. As you've mentioned, the Temple won't be located particularly close to any settlement, being quite deep into the wilderness, or northern tundras, of Vitae. Out there live many large and dangerous creatures, some of which you've no doubt never before encountered. I expect you'll enjoy the opportunity to exercise your abilities on such beings." He held up a hand before Spyro could say anything, cutting off his complaint. "Do not fear, however. You'll have assistance. Not only have we hired a large number of labourers from around the known world, but we have also enlisted the aid of one of the most prolific mercenary companies in the Realms. They style themselves the _White Wolves._"

Spyro's eyes widened at the news, surprised by this turn of events. "A mercenary company? I thought most mercenary corps were wiped out during the War."

"Yes, most," Mason confirmed. "But the best of the best managed to survive. Some may call our enlistment of such a well-known and skilled contractor for such a simple job wasteful, but as you said there are very few businesses remaining to choose from. Rumour has it that, in the first year after you disappeared and Malefor returned in full, the _Wolves_ were successfully able to bring down a golem on their own, with no casualties both within their own ranks and among the charges they were hired to protect." The mole chuckled. "While I cannot affirm the claim, it is quite impressive to hear such praise heaped upon them. Doubtless, you'll enjoy their company both on and off the battlefield. They are quite the friendly bunch from what I can see, even with the limited contact I've had with them."

The pair drew up next to another zeppelin, this one much smaller, with a different-shaped chassis and larger engine, as well as multiple large fin-like rudders protruding from the stern and sides. From what Spyro could recall from the fragmented knowledge he was privy to about zeppelins, this model was a military-grade, interceptor-class vessel, albeit with a heavily modified hull. The expanded engines were intended to grant the zeppelin additional speed and manoeuvrability, aided by the smaller crew quarters and cells. Despite the use of military hardware, the airship before Spyro had a quaint, filial atmosphere about it, aided by the collection of colourful banners taped to the side of the car. An insignia detailing the snarling face of a white wolf, outlined in black and set on crimson-scarlet satin, was the most prominent of the banners displayed, and with a quick deduction Spyro realised that it was the corporation's mantle.

"Well," the drake began, smiling broadly and stepping onto the boardwalk towards the airship. "At the very least, I'll have someone other than Cynder to spar with. I'll admit, I'm quite excited about meeting these guys."

"Speaking of the dragoness," Mason began, adjusting the straps on his overalls. "I do believe she has already made herself acquainted with the _Wolves_. You're welcome to join her, as we're not set to leave for at least an hour or two at the very minimum, so you've plenty of time to mingle with your fellow workmates."

Mason spoke the last sentence with a hint of old cheer, and Spyro glanced at him only to see a large grin plastered on his snout. "Workmates? You make it sound like I'm employed."

"Oh but you are Spyro, you're employed to Warfang. You have been ever since you returned."

Spyro rolled his eyes. "Right. Thanks for that, Mason. Great to hear."

Mason chuckled again, turning to leave. "Nevertheless, I've preparations to make. My boys in the guard may be adept at tackling grublins and wild monsters, but they've made it apparent that they are unable to organise themselves to save their own lives. If I'm not careful, they may very well break something and cause even more delays than we've already encountered! A herculean feat indeed!"

The purple drake shared Mason's laugh, lifting a wing in farewell. "Alright. Take care Mason. I'll see you when we return. Make sure Warfang doesn't burn down while I'm gone, would you?"

The mole paused mid-stride, removing his monocle to stare at Spyro with a mixture of amusement and confusion in his tiny, almost hidden eyes. "You seem unaware that I'll be joining you. Are you that desperate to be rid of me, boy?"

Spyro's eyes widened. "You're coming with us? But then who will take care of the guard?"

"I've delegated a replacement already, so you needn't fear Warfang being bereft of protection," Mason clarified. "'S'ides, who do you think is the architect for this mad scheme? Hunter? Volteer? As capable as your Guardians may be, I seem to be the only one in Warfang who is capable of buildin' anything more complex than a treehouse."

Spyro stifled a laugh with a wing, recalling Mason's past position as a renowned architect before the Maleficarum War intruded. "Ah, right. We'll need someone to keep us from ruining everything. You'll keep an eye on us, right? That's what the monocle is for, after all."

Mason let out a deep guffaw, his tone deeper and stronger than Spyro expected from such a small creature. "Hah! If I don't, you'll most likely end up burnin' down half of Vitae while you're at it! Ah, but I have tarried far too long as it is. I must return to my duties with all haste, lest you keep me here all day tradin' jokes and snide grins. I'll see you afore long, master Spyro."

Mason finally left, waddling away on his portly legs in the direction of the other airship. Spyro couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sight, never having grown inured to the ways of the moles even during his time at Warfang. In an attempt to stifle his mirth, Spyro looked back at the emblazoned zeppelin before him and began to walk along the docking platform, heading towards the gangplank leading onto its deck at the tip of the walkway. By the zeppelin's presence, Spyro assumed that the _Wolves_ must have been quite a rich company. Airships were notoriously expensive to maintain, even more so for those designed for combat, and so the ownership of such a vessel spoke miles of the _Wolves'_ ability and status. For the first time Spyro felt a twinge of anxiety over how he was to greet them, but eventually thrust such grievances aside as he remembered Mason's words. They were supposedly a friendly bunch, so the drake should have nothing to fear.

Strangely enough, the deck was bare. Spyro had expected some deckhands to be running about, preparing the craft for take-off later that day, but the area was devoid of activity. Treading onto the deck carefully, Spyro quickly made his way into the bowels of the craft, bypassing the rest of the zeppelin. To his surprise, the innards of the vessel were quite spacious, the opening room being a large, circular area with multiple doors leading to other compartments and a ladder leading into the upper balloon. Spyro closed his eyes, concentrating, and after a moment or two of quiet listening he could make out the faded noise emanating from upstairs, just barely similar to the clamour of voices. Neglecting the side passages, the purple drake instead ascended the stairs, wondering just what was going on within the bowels of the zeppelin.

As he moved step-by-step, the noise steadily began to grow louder. Before long Spyro could make out different voices, a word or two, but that only aroused his curiosity even further. As he reached the end of the stairwell he squinted to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light, only to slowly open them and gasp at the sight before him. Contrary to what he thought possible, an enormous hall opened up before him, stretching to what he assumed was the tip of the cell. Although there were "walls", they were haphazardly put together, consisting merely of separated planks of wood held together by straps of leather and rope. From the light of lanterns that spread the length of the hall, Spyro realised that the roof was left open in a similar manner, the dancing flames leaving flickering shadows across the roof of the balloon. A massive table stretched from the end of the compartment, where a large fireplace and several colourful banners stood proudly along the wall, all the way down more than half the span of the room.

But what truly caught Spyro's interest, however, was the mass of people that crowded the chamber. Rather than a motley crew as he had been expecting, the scene before him looked more akin to a scene from a Warfang festival. The throng of people were of every size, shape, colour and race, from dragon to mole to cheetah to, startlingly, canidae. And similarly to a Warfang festival, each person in the room, be they mammalian or reptilian, sported different attire and different pose. To the rather uneducated purple drake, and being only exposed to the discipline and formality of the Dragon City, seeing such a vast diversity in the crew before him was a strange and exotic sight. Everything about them felt foreign, from the accents they laughed in, to the words they spoke, from the clothes they wore to the jokes they shared. There was a dark green-hued drake standing not far from him, wearing sleeves on his forearms made of thick, crimson cloth. His accent was thick and low, husky but still intelligible. To Spyro's right was a blue-furred cheetah, with a loud, bellowing voice and seemingly the disposition to match it. She – or at least, Spyro assumed it was a she – wore a thin singlet with baggy black trousers, a dress style that seemed quite contradictory against the clothes Spyro had seen others of her kind wear, such as Hunter's attire. Next to her was another cheetah, this one black-furred and wear more respectable clothing. Golden earrings punctured his ears, and he had quite an impressive beard to complement the braids that hung from his snout. From what Spyro could hear, he lacked a notable accent, which made him stand out among the rest of the crew.

Despite the colourful characters surrounding him, Spyro's eyes quickly settled on the black dragoness in the centre of the room, who was mingling with a slightly larger dragoness with electric yellow scales, and a broad grin broke out on his lips. At the same time Cynder turned her head to notice him, and lifted a wing in greeting. "Spyro! You made it! I was worried Hunter or your little pixie brother would keep you. Come on, say hi to everyone!"

With Cynder's words, every pair of eyes within the room turned to stare at Spyro, and the purple drake suddenly felt extremely small. From the largest drake to the smallest canid, all eyes were waiting pensively for him to make a move. Habitual instinct kicked in, and Spyro's grin only grew broader as he lifted a wing in greeting to everyone around him.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked, his tone casual and friendly. "I was hoping to get here on time, but my fans held me up."

Chuckles and laughter broke out around the room, but Cynder merely rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Charming, Spyro, charming."

"Thank you Cynder," the drake replied, mock bowing. "And I take it these lovely people are the _Wolves,_ right?" At the affirmative nods he received in reply, Spyro chuckled. "A pleasure to meet all of you."

The black cheetah Spyro had noticed before was the first to speak, standing up from his position leaning against the wall and approaching the purple drake. "And you in kind, young dragon. Call me Heath Sinclair-Shadebeard. I'm the person most people go to when our commander ain't around."

The group scattered throughout the hall began to form a rough circle around Spyro, boxing him in. Cynder quickly sidled through the crowd of people, easily slipping through them and manoeuvring herself next to the purple dragon. The drake in question held up a wing to roughly, and somewhat awkwardly, shake Heath's hand when offered, somewhat relieved by the warm manner in which his opening greeting was received. Mason was right – the group was indeed a friendly bunch.

"Good to meet you, Heath," Spyro replied. "I've heard good things about you and your troop. They say the _White Wolves_ are among the best mercs money can buy."

Heath chuckled, a sentiment echoed by his surrounding fellows. "Aye, that'd be true. As much as I hate to brag, I can't help but agree with that. We've certainly survived a few close scrapes, and damn near always come out on top thanks to it."

"Don't be so modest old man!" the blue-furred cheetah cried out from behind him, earning a few scathing laughs from the rest of the crew. Her accent was thick and it was somewhat difficult to make out her words. "S'ides, it's the boss's job to give out the propaganda! Leave it to 'im!"

"Alright Maven, I get the idea," Heath quickly remarked. "Let's not get too out of control, eh? We've got important guests after all. Got to make a good impression."

Cynder giggled. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about looking professional in front of Spyro here." She jabbed the purple drake in the side with her hip, eliciting a pained grunt. "The boy's a bog softie, don't you worry. The last thing he'll do is ruin your reputation."

"Your tongue is as scathing as ever, Cynder," Spyro replied, shooting her a half-grumpy, half-amused smirk. "But her words ring true. Being professional is the last thing on my mind right now, Heath. It's good to see that I don't have to be formal around you guys as well. I'm already tired of good manners and antiquated language."

"Well, good," a large, bulky blue dragoness behind him interjected. "'Cause we weren't gonna tread softly with our words just 'cause you thought it'd be polite. We're a rowdy bunch, and we'd like to keep it that way."

The smaller red dragoness next to her scoffed at the remark, rolling her eyes at her superior in size with such a brazen attitude that it bordered on insubordination. She was about the same size as Cynder, although she held herself in a stature that lent the illusion of greater height. "Yeah right Beatrice. 'Rowdy' is a nice word choice. Personally, I'd call us a 'bloody mess'."

"Just because you're a Wolf now doesn't mean you can smack-talk us yet, Ana," a black-and-white canidae on the other side of the circle jabbed. Unlike the other canids Spyro had seen among the Skavenger ranks, this one composed himself in a much more civilized manner, and from the smell of it also bathed far more often. His tone and word choice also belied a greater intelligence. "Give it a few more months and we _might_ let you insult one-eye every now and then, you rookie."

"Please people, calm down," a mole interrupted, moving out from the shifting circle and into the centre spotlight next to Spyro and Cynder. Unlike Mason, this mammal wore blacksmith clothing dyed black from constant exposure to soot and lacked any sort of eyewear. A small iron hammer hung at his belt, as well as a myriad of other smithing and mechanical tools. "While I am quite glad that dear Spyro here does not care much for pleasantries, it would nevertheless be prudent to introduce ourselves properly to the poor lad. No doubt he's completely puzzled by our obscure in-jokes and confusing jabs at each other. Please, a semblance of order, would you?"

The smile on Spyro's face hadn't disappeared, despite his confusion. In truth, listening to the seemingly random remarks that the people around him were throwing at each other was a strange and enticing experience. From the grin that Cynder was sporting, she thought the same.

The blue furred cheetah that had spoken earlier stepped forward, a wide, cocky grin plastered onto her face. "Call me Maven Waterfur. I'm Heath here's apprentice."

Next to her, the canid nodded and snickered slightly to himself. "My name's Cutler. I keep Maven 'ere in line when she gets too excited."

Ignoring the punch to the arm that Cutler received, the electric dragoness lifted her wing to garner the two adolescents' attention. "Cynder knows me already, but my name is Belle Cumulus. Like our dear rookie over here, I haven't been with the _Wolves_ for that long. Only about a year now."

Beatrice, the enormous ice dragoness, held her head high and sneered. "Aye, while this puny little runt's only been freeloading for a month now. Call me Beatrice Condenning."

The red dragoness rolled her eyes again, stepping forward to be free of Beatrice's hard gaze. "The name's Anareta, as you've already heard. Just call me Ana for short."

"As for myself, the folks here call me the Tinkerer," the mole spoke up, dusting off his apron. "I'm responsible for the upkeep of weapons, armour and other sorts. I also help with maintaining the zeppelin, with my friend here Silvester."

The drake, a small, gangly specimen whose name was apparently Silvester, jumped slightly at his mention and bowed nervously towards Spyro and Cynder. While his scale colour – a dull grey – was nothing to be in awe at, he wore a large, telescopic monocle that would have looked more in place on a mole than a dragon. He was slightly shorter than Cynder, and from his height and mannerisms Spyro assumed that he couldn't have been more than fifteen – the same age Spyro had been when he first left home. What truly caught the adolescent's attention, however, was the brass attachment that replaced his left-hand paw, moving with all the deftness of a real limb.

"H-hello," he greeted warmly, if anxiously. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure." When he noticed the quizzical stares directed at his artificial limb, his smile wavered slightly. "I…uh…it was an accident…"

"The boy got his hand caught in one of the airship engines a few years back," the Tinkerer interjected, placing a comforting hand on Silvester's shoulder. "Much to our shock, he took it upon himself to craft himself a new limb. A genius with technology he is, no doubt about that."

Silvester bowed his head, embarrassed as he received several chuckles and laughs from the people around him, but Spyro couldn't help an impressed grin from painting his face. Cynder stepped forward, placing a wing on the boy's shoulder, and likewise smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry about your paw," she began. "But that is incredible for someone so young! How long have you been with the _Wolves_?"

"He's been with us ever since I have, about eight years now," a large earth dragon said, moving through the crowd to stand next to Silvester. As opposed to the wind dragon's dull hue, the drake next to him was in possession of a set of rich, lush, forest green scales. "My name's Nikolai Claymore. Silvester's my brother. We joined up during the war and we've been with the group ever since."

"Aye, back when Silvester 'ere was nothing more than a mewling kitten," Maven jabbed, earning a punch to the arm from Cutler.

"Does everyone in this troupe have such an interesting history?" Spyro asked as a jest, earning a few earnest snickers from the crowd. "Because to be honest, I could spend hours in here listening to all of you."

"You may just get that opportunity, young dragon."

Everyone in the room stiffened at the sound of the gruff, commandeering voice that emanated from the entrance to the stairwell. As the circle surrounding him began to disperse, forming a rough path to the exit, Spyro raised an eyebrow at the large, intimidating cheetah standing in front of the doorway. Like Maven, his fur was blue, although of a far lighter shade than hers. His eyes were a piercing olive green, hardened by years of work, and his stature commanded undue respect. Much like Heath, he was a broad-shouldered specimen and sported an impressive beard, but the rest of his face was well-kempt. He wore a thick leather vest and a tight grey pair of overalls, brown leather boots covering his paws. A dark maroon cloak hung from his shoulders, long sleeves concealing his arms and obscuring most of his obviously-large form.

From the looks of awe and respect he was receiving from the surrounding crew, it didn't take long for Spyro to deduce he was their 'commander'.

"I take it you're the leader of the _White Wolves_, no?" Cynder began, stepping forward to be in line with Spyro. Her expression was unreadable. "A pleasure to meet you."

"And you in kind, Cynder, Terror of the Skies," the man replied, moving forward. Cynder flinched at the mention of her abandoned title, her expression instantly hardening. The cheetah gestured to Spyro, causing the purple drake to swallow nervously. "And I dare to assume that you are Spyro, Saviour of the Realms and purple dragon both. Charmed, I'm sure."

Spyro's face was blank, neutral. Unfamiliar with mammalian faces as he was, the purple drake was having great difficulty discerning anything from the cheetah's face. His voice wasn't threatening, but it was hard, uncompromising. His very physical presence was intimidating, and Spyro was surprised that such thoughts were being elicited by a cheetah of all things.

"And might we know your name? You're obviously well familiar with us already, '_commander'._"

Spyro held the cheetah's gaze for a moment longer, staring into his olive green eyes intently. Yet without warning, the cheetah lifted his head back and let loose a loud, mirthful laugh, his voice echoing throughout the gathering hall. With confusion blossoming, Spyro and Cynder could only stare at him with eyebrows raised, waiting for him to make a move.

"Oh, I know that voice well, Spyro," he began, his laughter dying down but his merriment persisting. A quiet smile now decorated his feline snout. "Don't be so defensive. I mean neither you nor your companion any harm. My name is Vates Chasergale, Commander of the _White Wolves._ Truly, it is a pleasure to meet both of you." He shifted his head slightly in Cynder's direction. "And Cynder, do not feel intimidated by my use of your title. It is well-earned, I'm sure, and I use it with all due respect."

Cynder's only response was a terse nod, still wary of Vates' outburst. Spyro, on the other hand, stepped forward and held out a paw in greeting. Vates took it in his own, shaking it heartily, before beckoning for the two adolescents to follow him as he took a seat at the massive banquet table. The rest of the crew followed, forming a massive ring around the three. Immediately Spyro felt boxed in, but it was an imprisoning sensation that the drake had long since grown accustomed to. The black dragoness' presence, sitting calmly on a seat to his right within arm's reach, helped him immensely.

"So, Vates, would you mind telling me more about your crew?" Spyro began, gesturing to the men and women surrounding them. "With such a colourful crew you must have an equally-colourful history. What are the _Wolves_ all about?"

Vates chuckled, a sentiment echoed by his crew. "The _White Wolves_ were founded by yours truly about twenty years ago, just before the Maleficarum War started in truth." His mouth formed a slight frown, but it quickly disappeared. "Now that I ponder it, it was a few months before Malefor was first disgraced and banished. Kazuto, Beatrice, Heath, Chase and I met up on a transport job, serving as an escort for a large goods and supplies transport bound for Warfang. We hit it off after the job, and-"

"By, 'hit it off', he means, 'get drunk and pass out in the back alley of some shady tavern in the back-end of nowhere'," Beatrice interrupted, a smirk painting her expression. Vates simply glared at her with a half-amused, half-disgruntled countenance, as if unsure whether to applaud her or punish her.

"Anyway," he continued, deigning to ignore the interruption. "Needless to say we decided to work together afterwards. Being inebriated with someone tends to show you exactly who they are inside. We were based out of Warfang for a few months until Malefor decided to show his true intentions, and we were soon embroiled in the conflict as a third party. We weren't particularly notorious at first, simply helping scouting or skirmish operations with some extra muscle, but soon enough our name began to spread and others started to join us. Some of our long runners are, thankfully, still with us here today. Of course, we've lost a few people along the way, as entails being a mercenary, but over the years we've earned praise for being an extremely efficient contractor. It's no jest to claim that we are the best in the industry, aren't we ladies and gentlemen?"

The uproar that followed served as iron conviction for Vates' point, and Spyro couldn't help an enthusiastic grin from forming. Looking to his side Spyro noticed a similar smile forming on Cynder's own snout.

"The _Wolves_ work on a simple philosophy – if you work hard, you are rewarded well. At first we let anyone in, as long as one of our members vouched for you. However, with our coming notoriety, we've had to tighten the leash on our recruitment policies. Nowadays we've a bit of a trial newcomers must endure, set over the course of several missions. Anareta over there is our newest addition, although she still needs to prove herself loyal to our membership."

Anareta, having relocated next to a red-furred cheetah that was dressed far more finely than the rest of the crew, smirked broadly. Spyro raised an eyebrow as he noticed the single, prominent white fang that stuck out on her upper left lip, standing out like a star through clouds.

"Fortunately, all of our founding members are alive here today. It's been made clear countless times that we are a very tough lot to kill," Vates continued, sharing a knowing look with Heath. "Our methods are many and varied – no one has to stick to any specific training regime or fighting style. Everyone enters combat with their own techniques, weapons and armour, and we make use of what we have, and the non-combatants like the Tinkerer and Silvester make themselves useful in other ways, such as maintaining the airship and taking care of our tools."

"So you keep your membership varied. Nice tactic," Cynder commented. "It makes certain that you're prepared for every situation, whatever the degree. Giving potential members a little trial to go through helps to separate the over-eager from the talented."

"You talk like you know it," Maven commented from the sidelines.

"Well, I do. I _was_ the general of an immense army for the better part of my childhood, after all."

Cynder spoke her words with a biting tone, but Maven simply nodded respectfully, her upper lip twitching in a hidden smirk. Vates waved his comrade away, moving onto more pleasant subjects.

"Do you know much about where we're headed, Spyro and Cynder?" he asked calmly, without a trace of condescension in his voice. "I'm aware of your sheltered upbringing, Spyro, and I'm not sure how much you've travelled the Realms, Cynder. You know of our destination?"

"Northern Vitae, as far as I know," Spyro began, somewhat disconcerted and embarrassed by the mention of his childhood. "But other than that I don't know much. As you know, I don't travel much."

"Most of northern Vitae is a frigid tundra," Cynder explained. "Although it isn't as deathly cold as the southern mountains, it's still far colder than anywhere else in the Realms. It's also the only area of Vitae where summer actually _looks_ like summer. Our destination is a small valley not too far from the tundra, situated between two small mountains along the eastern edges of the continent. The Temple has been slated to stand along the slopes of one of these mountains, near the base, looking out onto the expanse."

"Right now its late winter in that area, thus we'll be going in cold," Heath continued, stroking the two braids on either side of his snout. "So I hope you can deal with being a bit chilly, young drake."

Spyro returned Heath's comment with a cock-sure grin. "I can shoot icicles from my throat. I don't think a bit of ice on my feet will be a problem."

"You'll have a brief reprieve from the cold before diving in, however," the Tinkerer spoke. The portly mole, a fair bit wider and a fair bit shorter than Mason, sat in the cleft between Beatrice's wings, being too small to adequately see upon the chairs. "We won't be heading straight to Vitae, if what your Guardians say is true. We'll be taking a rest stop at Sacer, the capital of Nubila, along the way. Apparently some labourers have been offered into your service, as a boon from Sovereign Alroy, as well as a collection of supplies and building materials, some of which can only be found in Nubila and are quite expensive. Naturally, the Guardians have decided to make the most of the tribute."

Spyro groaned, rolling his eyes. "Great, more monarchs trying to win my favour. Politics has a way of following me wherever I go. It's kind of sad that I can't escape it no matter what I do."

"I wouldn't worry about being bogged down by bureaucracy and politicians while you bunk with us, purple whelp," Cutler exclaimed, the canidae lifting a tankard filled with some sort of auburn liquid, glistening in the fire light. "At worst, you'll only have to deal with _someone_ stealing the butter at dinner every night. We still haven't found the blasted culprit, despite _three long months._"

"Hah! That's because you blame everyone other than yourself!" Nikolai cried, jabbing an edged wing in Cutler's direction. "I think we all know _exactly_ who the culprit is!"

"You dare impugn my honour, dragon?"

"Damn right I do, you wretched dog!"

"That's it. C'mere you overgrown _lizard!_"

With an uproar from the crew surrounding, the conversation quickly turned into one of mirth, despite the ensuing brawl that erupted over the table. Bets were made between the audience, Vates did his best to keep everyone uninjured, comments were traded between friends and acquaintances, both in jest and severity, and in the centre of the tempest of merriment were Spyro and Cynder, serving as the spotlight for the crowd. For a few moments, drowned in humour and laughter, Spyro could forget his problems.

And for that, he was glad.

- ҉ -

The gale that buffeted Cyril's snout was not an uncommon one to the ice drake – he had felt the sharp winds of the highest skies more often than most. Standing upon the bow of the gargantuan zeppelin, floating gently along the smaller interceptor to its side, Cyril's crystalline, faceted eyes were unmoving from the unflinching horizon before him. The sun was gone, replaced by the silver orb of the greater moon. The younger, venom-green moon hid shyly behind its older sister, obscured from the world. With the pale white glow, the murky black water of the Hollow Sea below was illuminated just slightly, with a silver sheen dancing brightly on its surface. With night having spread its veil over the two airships navigating the clouded skies, Cyril had extricated himself from the confining walls of the zeppelin interior and had retreated to the cool air and bright skies of the deck. Having almost crossed the expansive Hollow Sea, the two parties had almost crossed the border into Nubilan territory. Not that Cyril was aware.

The elderly drake's fellow Guardian, Volteer, stood not far behind him, observing his brother-in-service with trepidation, unsure of whether to approach. The electric Guardian sighed and strode over to Cyril's side, nudging him gently with his cobalt-framed wing to garner his attention.

"Cyril?"

For a moment, all that could be heard was the howling of the wind.

"What is it, Volteer? Have you reason to waste more of my time?"

Volteer shrugged. "Oh, other than for my own articulate amusement, no. But then, I jest."

Cyril snorted, his tail motionless. "Don't speak to me in riddles. I've had enough of deciphering puzzles and cracking codes as it is, what with the wild goose chase _he_ decided to leave in his wake."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard of your discovering in the old Warfang records. No, not the Warfang records, but what remains of the Dragon Temple's cache." Volteer broached. "What shall you do now that you have a lead? Nay, par not a lead, but the whisper of a lead?"

Cyril shrugged. "What can I do? I still have my duties as a Guardian to attend to, and with the world still in fragments those responsibilities are only exacerbated. I highly doubt I shall have time to follow up on his trail of breadcrumbs." He snorted again. "Ah, he did ever love fairy tales, did he not? It's fitting that he would try to create one in his wake, but sadly more important duties call for me."

Volteer frowned. "But surely if he left a trail, then he intended for you to find it and follow it, no?"

"If it was intentional, I doubt it was for me. It could have been for Ignitus. Or Mist, even."

"You sell your brother short, Cyril," the deep booming of Terrador's voice answered. Cyril sighed, turning to see the green-scaled drake approach. "He cared more for you than you realise. Don't you remember anything?"

"Of course I remember, Terrador. It simply hurts to do so." Cyril's upper lip rose back in a snarl, and his wings crumpled against his back. "Perhaps those memories are best left buried. We all did our best to move on from those dark days, to leave them adrift in faded memory. What if he no longer lives? What if I simply wasted my time?"

"Has someone whisked our dear Cyril away and replaced him with a downtrodden, lethargic copy?" Volteer jeered, a smile tugging at his snout. "The Cyril I know would have been illuminated at the opportunity of finding his long-lost sibling, dead or alive."

"I'm not certain who you're talking about, but it isn't me," Cyril replied despondently.

Terrador placed a wing over Cyril's shoulders, attempting to comfort his eternal friend. "Cyril, this is an opportunity that you may never have again. Do you want to forget your brother? You've still so much to reconcile with him, and this is your chance." Terrador grunted. "Besides, he is our friend as well. If you do not take up this responsibility, then perhaps I shall. At the very least, we should ascertain what happened to him."

Cyril was motionless for a moment, weighing his options. His gaze was unmoving from the approaching horizon, as obscured as it was by the shroud of night. Eventually he sighed, bowing his head. "…Very well. Once this thrice-blasted reconstruction is finished, I will try and find him. Only the ancestors know what twisted maze he's left for me to follow in his wake."

"You need not grow anxious, my dear Cyril," Volteer assured the ice dragon as he finally turned away from the railing. "You'll have both us esteemed drakes here to assist you, every step of the way."

"Indeed," Terrador agreed, chuckling slightly at Cyril's exasperated groan. "You'll not be left alone to sift through your brother's leavings. I've a few words to say to him myself, after all."

"It will be a joyous reunion. The very birds will sing a symphony for the occasion," Cyril spat, his voice thick with cynicism. "Come, the night has waned on enough already. We should get some rest. Although I'm certain our minds are as lively as ever, I need not remind you that your bodies might as well belong to a two-hundred year old decrepit drake. They need more rest than we might want."

As he re-entered the zeppelin interior, followed by his entourage of his fellow Guardians, Cyril was struck with a sense of foreboding that shook his very bones, no matter the presence of his lifelong friends. He'd lived long enough to know when things weren't as they seemed – and he doubted that this discovery was going to be a peaceful one.

* * *

One chapter in and already the Wolves are beginning to grow on me. Whoops. Ancillary characters aren't meant to be so interesting.  
Also, what is Cyril talking about? I suppose it was too much to ask for the Maleficarum War to remain the past, but what sorts of ghosts are coming back to haunt our beloved Guardians? And how will it affect our dear Spyro and Cynder?

I promise I'll do my best to keep to my posting schedule in the future. I know it was the Easter weekend, but that's no excuse for being unprofessional.


	7. Chapter 3 - Sacer

Remind me never to set myself an update schedule when I'm in the middle of the most important year of my high school educating years. It tends to end badly for both the update rate and my actual schoolwork. For the former, I dearly apologise - four to five weeks of nothing is not a pleasant experience, I know. I can't promise to stick to the schedule anymore because of my increased workload, but I'll do my best to pump out something every few weeks, on average.

At the very least, this chapter is much longer. Still more backstory development and character introduction, but we meet a new(?) important character in this chapter!

* * *

Sacer

From his lofty perch at the bowsprit of the ship, Spyro was gazing out at the oncoming clouds with idle intensity. The massive industrial zeppelin – easily twice the size of the _Wolves'_ zeppelin, which was hovering not too far away from the portside of the airship's deck – sashayed forward through a fog of white, surrounded on all sides but above with a thick layer of mist. The deck itself was mostly bare, with only several scattered crew members keeping watch on the temperate weather, and thus Spyro's vigil had lasted for over an hour undisturbed. In the shadows of the gondola, her jet-black scales concealing her presence, Cynder had sat and observed Spyro's silence for the better part of that hour.

Over the past week, during which the two airships had traversed the great, sapphire-blue expanse of the Hollow Sea, Cynder had never seen Spyro in a better mood. His smile was bright, his eyes sparkling, and his mood upbeat. Jokes were shared without complaint – and these jokes were full of mirth and sincerity, lacking the dry humour that had accompanied the drake's usual attempts at comedy – and everything, from the smallest greeting to the largest praise, widened his smile into a grin that was bereft of the hidden tension that normally resided behind his positive outlook. Whether it was a boon of what awaited him at the end of their journey, the colloquial and festive influence which the crew of the _White Wolves_ seemed to exude_,_ or the simple fact that he was outside the walls of Warfang for once in his recent life, his disposition had brightened so considerably that even the Guardians were taken aback by his elation.

But even a purple dragon needed rest, and despite his extroverted nature, being alone for a few moments every now and then helped to clear his mind and sharpen his thoughts. And while taking a break from the others for a time was perfectly reasonable, the sombre expression that decorated his violet snout and amaranthine eyes was not.

Oblivious to the soft embrace of the white, wet fog on her scales, electing to ignore the sound of creaking timber and quiet mutters, adapting to the gentle swaying of the craft in mid-air, Cynder extricated herself from the concealing darkness and strode towards Spyro on the bow of the deck. The dragoness forced every foot forward, against the slight weightlessness of her limbs and the fluttering of her stomach, attempting with trained effort to disregard the nervousness that struck her. Approaching him from his left flank, Cynder leaned against the forward railing and tapped Spyro gently on the shoulder with a lengthened talon, causing the purple drake to jump in shock. His eyes widened and his entire body flinched visibly, his tail stiffening and wings flaring ever so slightly. Cynder forced herself to stifle an anxious giggle.

"Dear Ancestors, Cynder!" Spyro cursed, staring at the dragoness with a mixture of shock and apprehension, eyes wide. The surprise had almost sent him careening over the front of the deck and into the clouds below. "Please don't do that! You're far too good at sneaking up on people for it to be natural."

Cynder smirked, exposing her glistening, serrated teeth. "Well, that'd be because it's probably not natural."

Spyro scoffed, lifting his head high. "Yeah, right. Actually, I take that back. It probably is natural, given how you have a habit of scaring the scales off of anyone you can. You have too much fun doing it for it to be forced on you."

"I dunno, maybe Malefor had a comedic streak that he gave me out of boredom. Being a heartless dictator must be tiring sometimes_._"

"More like a cruel streak." The drake replied, still staring out towards the front of the airship, refusing to look at Cynder despite the irresistible smirk that had begun to form on his snout. "Anyone who thinks that's funny ought to be banished."

"Oh, lighten up Spyro," Cynder commented, bumping Spyro with her hip. Her tail slid along the back of his, rubbing up against his spines, and the dragoness' heart rate increased marginally. "Just because you still haven't fully grasped the concept of stealth doesn't mean you need to take out your frustration on those who have mastered it. You can't stand it when people are better than you, can you?"

"I'm just testing the waters, you know? Making sure you're not still hurting inside," Spyro explained, finally tilting his head to show Cynder his purple irises and flashing a caring smile. "It's good to see you're able to make jokes about that. Three years ago you would've gutted anyone who dared make a jab at your servitude."

The black dragoness shrugged. "Well, I figured that I could either sit in a room and mope in the dark by myself, or try and move on from it."

Spyro snorted, rolling his eyes. "I wish everyone else would do the same. Sometimes you have to move on from the past."

Cynder fidgeted slightly, crossing her forepaws uncertainly, and was about to open her mouth when the airship began to rattle like a madman, dipping forward slightly and lurching every passenger forward. Cynder, by virtue of grasping the railing in front of her, only managed to escape the sudden shift with a slightly-bruised stomach, Spyro jerked forward so sharply that for a split-second, Cynder thought he was going to careen over the bow and hurtle into the clouds below, and the force of her hammering heart increased in tune. With near-superhuman reflexes, Spyro dug his claws into the wooden deck and flared his wings to catch the wind, pulling himself to a halt before he could fall.

"Sorry!" a voice called out from behind, originating from an ice drake manning the leftmost platform. "We're coming up on an impasse and we needed to change course!"

"An impasse?" Cynder mentioned idly, mildly confused. "What do they mean? We're in the forsaken clouds, for the ancestors' sake. What could block our path?"

Spyro's silence was her clue. She gazed at Spyro for a mere second, noticing his tempered gaze towards the front of the ship, and as she turned to see what he was so fixated upon it dawn on her what was blocking the zeppelin's route. Through the thinning mist, casting a white film upon their surroundings, Cynder could see a large shape, like a broken piece of stone. The underside was formed of broken rock and earth, supporting the grass-covered and tree-littered upside. What looked like a dried-up pond with a tiny, brown riverbed leading to the edge of the platform formed a nasty wound on the otherwise pristine island. With the floating island in the way, drifting over the earth below it on its own course, the airship had to manoeuvre itself quite the distance away to avoid a disastrous impact.

Spyro's heavy gaze was unlike the awe-filled expressions most people were subject to upon first witnessing the majestic sight of a floating island. On the contrary, his disposition was almost venomous, glaring at the floating chunk of rock with loathing. Cynder felt her heart sink, understanding Spyro's pain, and she placed a wing over his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

"Maybe you should take your own advice."

"What?"

"Moving on from the past. You couldn't do anything for it, you know."

Spyro grunted, lifting his upper lip back in a repugnant snarl. "I was there. _I_ was the one pulling the world back together. _I_ was the one who couldn't fit _all_ the pieces of the puzzle."

"Dear ancestors' Spyro, what could you have done?" Cynder exclaimed in exasperation, removing her wing from Spyro's back and flaring her crimson membranes in frustration. "You barely knew what was going on! To this day, you still don't know exactly what you did! Can you stop beating yourself up over the fact that you left a few drifting stones over the skies of the Realms?" Cynder sighed, tilting her head and staring at the purple drake with disappointment. "You always focus on the negative of yourself. You have to stop that."

The drake was silent for a moment, watching the island float by as the airship navigated around it by a wide margin. The clouds were thinning, giving both adolescents a better view of the surrounding sky, a brilliant, bright blue dotted with even higher clouds, towering over the two airships like enormous, white arches.

"Do you remember the first time I saw a floating isle? A few weeks after we returned to Warfang?" Spyro queried, his detested expression replaced by one of grim remorse.

"Of course I do. It was a small one, floating almost low enough to clip some of the city's towers. The whole city was in a panic over it."

"Yeah, they were, and we decided to fly up there and check it out." Spyro sighed, leaning against the railing of the bow once more. A dark chuckle escaped his maw. "It really was tiny, but it had a home on it. A tiny house, built of white stone with a flat roof. The surface was covered in sand, meaning it was probably from Arida or southern Bellum. There were a few cracks on it, bits of debris scattered around the platform, but it was in one piece. Only when we looked inside, there was no one there. Bits and pieces of the furniture were flung all around the room, shattered and ruined. It was surreal, and disturbing. There should have been someone there, a family that lived in it, a group that rented it. But there wasn't. There was just a house of white brick with a flat roof floating in the sky."

"Spyro, stop it, please," Cynder begged. She sidled up next to him, gazing at him expectantly. "You just…this isn't your fault, ok? It's never been your fault. You know who you should blame? Malefor. It was him. He was the one who decided to blow up the world in the first place."

The drake's silence only furthered her insistence. Cynder grunted, lifting a forepaw and rubbing her snout in hopelessness. "Spyro, this is sounding a lot like the things you'd say to me when I had depressed stages. Isn't that somewhat ironic? And hypocritical?"

That last sentence gave Spyro a grin, and he turned to face Cynder with a much warmer temper. "Heh, I guess so. I can't start complaining when you pull out that card on me."

Cynder let a quiet smile spread across her lips, and she spread her wings wide, offering a hug. "Come on Spyro. You took care of me when I was down, so it's only fair that I do the same."

As Spyro returned Cynder's grip, wrapping his large, crimson wings around her jet-black frame, gently caressing her sides and back, rubbing up against her chest and neck, Cynder found it difficult to deny that she enjoyed every second of the contact. She held him close, constricting her wings around his body tightly, but not uncomfortably, savouring every second of his embrace. When he finally pulled away, extricating her unwillingly from his grip, Cynder felt the blood rush to her face and was thankful that her scales hid her blush.

"I do hope that I am not interrupting an intimate moment between you two young hatchlings, hmm?"

Both heads jerked violently towards the source of the voice, almost jumping as Volteer's large, electric-yellow figure consumed their field of vision. He stood proudly in the centre of the deck, watching the two dragons with a wry smile, his fellow Guardians held up near the entrance to the cabin by Hunter and Vates, discussing something unintelligible from their distance.

"Of course not, Volteer," Spyro began, holding fast the reigns of conversation as Cynder was momentarily stunned. "What do you need?"

"Oh, nothing at all, young one," Volteer began, gesturing behind the two adolescents with a cobalt wing. "I simply found it prudent to inform you of our impending arrival."

Both dragons turned and gazed out toward the clouds in front of the ship, having fogged over the immediate vicinity. Through the film of white, Cynder could just barely make out a large, dark patch near the ground, such a great distance below the airship.

"That's Sacer?" Cynder clarified, receiving a gentle nod in affirmation. "Seems rather unimpressive from up here, I'll say."

"Grant the place barely a moment, dear. You've not even seen it past the barrier of white mist."

The airship drifted forward with purpose, flanked by its multi-coloured escort. Slowly, almost painfully, the white mist began to dissipate, pulled away as if some unseen hand was parting the curtains, and before long the plateau upon which Sacer stood was revealed in all its glory, eliciting gasps from Spyro and Cynder both.

Sacer rested upon a large, flat plateau within the embrace of an enormous mountain range, spreading towards the horizon further than Cynder's hawk-like eyes could see. The city blended in with the cold, grey stone around it, the only sign of its existence being the uniform formality of its architecture, rigid and prismatic. Innumerable long, sharp towers lanced towards the sky from their pedestals, capped by ornate, gargoyle-studded statues. Unlike the buildings of Warfang, where everything was constructed of warm, reddish-brown brick, Sacer's stone-grey architecture lent a powerful, ancient feeling to the city, demanding respect. Although Warfang was an enormous, multicultural blend of everything the Realms had to offer, it was clear from a single glance that Sacer was vastly different – a stalwart guardian of Nubila's heritage, and a powerful, visual reminder of the country's might. The only exit to a from the city that was not of the air was a tiny, winding pathway through the mountains, ringed by deep chasms and dangerous walkways, leading into a large marsh that was likewise surrounding by gargantuan, fanged mountains tipped with snow. In the centre of the murky green swamp was an enormous tree, towering above the landscape and partly obscured by a thick layer of watery mist.

Cynder had seen Sacer several times, if only from the eyes of a general laying siege to it, but she remembered how imposing the city had been even to her fearless persona. Upon seeing Spyro's reverent gaze, his jaw open slightly at the sight before him, a delighted smile appeared on Cynder's face and she gently poked his side. "Pretty jaw-dropping, hmm?"

"Yeah," Spyro replied after a moment of thought, closing his mouth and gulping. "It's so…different."

Silence reigned as the two airships slowly began their descent towards the city, engulfing themselves within the maze of stone towers that stood like sentinels for the city below. Spyro made a dash for the side of the ship, peering over the railing eagerly and staring at the labyrinthine streets below. Houses of all heights were packed together tightly, turning the paved streets into grey canyons with barely a sliver of space between the rooftops. Despite Warfang being one of the most populous cities on the northern continent, the sheer density of the crowd that flocked the city streets shocked Spyro to his core – never before in his life had he seen so many dragons clustered together in one place. A few faces turned skyward to stare at the enormous zeppelin that blocked out the sun, but many simply continued on their way as if the gargantuan shadow that fell over them was nothing but a daily contrivance. Indeed, when the purple drake finally lifted his head to stare at the rest of the city, through the lancing towers he could see another three or four monstrous vehicles clogging the skies, moving to and from the massive outcrop of rock that jutted outward from the base of the mountain.

His eyes drawn to the outcrop in particular, Spyro squinted as he tried to make out why an airship would careen straight towards it, realising that the zeppelin that was carrying him and his charges was also on a collision course for the massive cliff face. He twisted his head in a near-180 and stared quizzically at both Cynder and Volteer, who were watching his confused expression with amused grins.

"Don't worry, we're not going to crash," Cynder assured, walking over to Spyro's side and leaning against the railing. "You'll see in a moment."

"Do you have to be so cryptic?" Spyro replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a paw.

"Yes, I do."

Ignoring his companion, Spyro patiently waited for the massive airship to approach the outcrop, navigating through the twisting maze of towers along the way. As the zeppelin floated out of the shadow of an extremely thick, obviously residential tower, revealing the front of the cliff face near the base of the outcrop, Spyro's jaw dropped for the second time that day.

The enormous, rocky spire, towering above the buildings below and curling over the city, stood out like a large, greyish-black fang, casting a shadow over a large portion of the city. What was most impressive, however, was the enormous depression near the base of the spire – a large, rectangular opening ringed by wires and scaffolds and capped by a multitude of brass shutters that currently sat half-closed. Several long decks ran perpendicular to the cliff face, forming a rough landing strip for incoming airships, and large, lengthy lanterns followed suit, hanging unlit from their perches along the rocky surface. His face unmoving from its awestruck expression as the airship moved closer to the enormous hangar, Spyro could see numerous zeppelins and other aircraft stored within the deep depression.

"The hangar," Spyro uttered, clearing his throat as his voice cracked, doing his best to ignore the childish laugh from his black companion. "The hangar is built into the side of the mountain…"

"Mmhm!" Cynder confirmed, looking on with an impressed gaze. "Pretty cool, h-uh?"

"That's the understatement of the century," Spyro replied. "How long do you think it took to build that? Hollowing out solid rock couldn't have been easy."

"Oh, it wasn't," Volteer interjected, striding up behind the two adolescents and looking onward at the rapidly-approaching hangar doors. "The embellished zeppelin hangar construction project lasted a span of time reaching near two painstaking decades. Countless scores of labourers, workers, architects, mercenaries, engineers, mechanics, and overseers were involved in the intricate process. Many an earth dragon also partook in the task. Before the inception of the spire hangar, airships, zeppelins and other sky-bound vehicles were delegated two immense tower hangars within the city proper, but Sacer outgrew the confining towers and required specific facilities to accommodate the capital's swelling traffic."

Spyro, who oft ignored Volteer's lengthy speeches, was for once enraptured by the lightning drake's tale. "How long ago was that?"

"Current records place the construction six score years behind."

"It looks much more imposing up close," Cynder commented as the airship was swallowed by the gaping maw in the stone, her surroundings darkening as sunlight fled. "A lot larger, too."

"You've been here before, Cynder?" Spyro asked, receiving a nod in return.

"Yeah, as the one laying siege to it. If my memory serves, we never once breached the city's walls, so I never had the chance to see its landmarks up close. I might not look it but I'm just as excited as you to see what Sacer has to offer." Upon the close of her sentence, Cynder frowned in thought before flashing Spyro a mocking smile. "Well, perhaps not _as_ excited, or dumbstruck, but still."

"Hey, never left Warfang, remember? Not everyone is as privileged as you, miss 'Terror of the Skies.'"

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."

"As if you would be."

"Now, now, youngsters, we'll all get the chance to explore the city in time," a gruff voice emanated from behind the two adolescents. Cynder's only response was to turn and acknowledge Vates' existence with a slight nod, before returning to her observance. "At least you two will. With those expressions anyone'd have a hard time stopping you."

"Are you not as jubilant, Commander?" Volteer queried.

"I've been to Sacer plenty of times," Vates explained, pulling a small scrap of paper from a pouch on his belt and examining it with a thoughtful, green eye. "While the Outlook never fails to impress me, I suppose I've been numbed to the rest of the city's wonder."

"The rest?" Spyro questioned, pushing himself away from the zeppelin railing and facing Vates. The purple drake noticed that crew members were scurrying around the deck with a frantic pace as they tried to coordinate the airship's movements within the tight confines of the hangar. Unlike the docking ports of Warfang, the hangar of Sacer was spacious but criss-crossed with walkways and gangplanks of every size and length, forming a maze of tunnels that the airship had to manoeuvre.

"Aye. Being the capital city, Sacer has a lot to offer new blood," Vates explained, gesturing for the two adolescents to follow him. He guided them to the stern of the craft, where one could spy the city through the hangar doors. "For one, there's the Sacer Outlook, at the peak of the spire that this very hangar is carved out of."

"It is common rumour that one can view the entirety of Nubila from atop the Outlook," Volteer interjected, grasping the reigns of the conversation. "While the claim has no basis in tested evidence, the whispers remain as common folklore. Alongside the draw of such a renowned tourist attraction, and one whose utility is a grand testament to the capital's prominence, Sacer is also steward to what mayhap be the solitary, occupied entrance into the necropolis that honeycombs the Realms' underground. As the catacombs are blanketed in such enigma, a safe entrance to their depths is valuable and curious to many a traveller or scholar. In absolute truth, Sacer is a scholar or savant's paradise, for alongside such a historical, archaeological and cultural wonder is the much-vaunted library of Vetus Haruspex. The library, christened after its founder, is one of the principal collections of antediluvian manuscripts in the northern Realms, matched only by Warfang's Great Library. Within lies…"

Both the cheetah and the two hatchlings had long since left Volteer to drone on by himself, and had continued their own conversation.

"…As mister Staccatos says, there's plenty to keep you busy," Vates continued, eyeing Volteer with an inquisitive gaze. "He certainly has a quick tongue, does he not?"

Spyro and Cynder merely chuckled, the latter rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Yeah," she began. "I guess that's where all his electricity goes."

"I think I'm going to get lost in this city," Spyro commented, staring out towards the city as the airship began the docking procedure. The deck shook and rattled as bonds and wires were attached to the hull, creaking just loud enough to be heard over the cries of the crew. "Just look at it! It's like a labyrinth, with all those tiny streets and huge buildings."

"I'm certain you'll find someone to guide you," Vates assured, grinning broadly. "I'd gladly escort you around, but sadly I have logistical duties that need to be taken care of. Inns to assign, supplies to gather, people to meet, the usual."

"In the meantime, it would be my pleasure to show you the city," Hunter's voice echoed from behind as he strode up next to Vates, his primrose fur and earthy attire contrasting vividly against Vates' elegant, bright clothing. His cloak hung over his shoulders, obscuring most of his figure. "I am quite acquainted with Sacer, so you've need not fear losing your way."

"Are you sure we don't have anything we should be doing? Like helping with…whatever it is you guys are doing?" Spyro questioned, displaying his renowned selflessness for all to see. Cynder groaned.

"Come on Spyro," the black dragoness interceded. "For once can you stop trying to be the hero? You have a day off for the first time in months. You should be enjoying it!"

"I concur with Cynder. Do not worry yourself with the grievances of the operation. Others will handle it."

Vates chuckled. "Aye, after all that's our job. Go and have fun you two. We'll see you tonight, once all the pesky tasks are over."

"Well, alright then," Spyro relinquished, his mood somewhat morose, but excited. As the final few cables were put into place on the airship, stabilising it on the docking pier, the purple drake's expression lit up and he dashed for the gangplank leading off of the deck, gesturing for Cynder and Hunter to follow him, ever the leader. "Come on, what are we waiting for?"

- ҉ -

"Did you honestly think you were going to get away with leaving me on the zeppelin all by myself?" Sparx scolded his brother, hovering so close to the drake's eyes in the cramped cabin that he almost blinded him. "We're in a big city you've never been in before, and you decide to just run off without me. Very smart, Spyro. Cities have always been dangerous places for us!"

"To you, everywhere is dangerous," Spyro countered, blinking rapidly and pushing Sparx away with a wing as he tried to make himself more comfortable, sitting on plush, carefully-detailed pillows. Across from him sat the jet-black silhouette of Cynder, contrasting darkly against the furnished blue seat, and next to her Hunter leant against the carriage wall, observing the brother's antics with a vague smile of amusement. "Besides, since when were we in danger the last time we visited someplace new?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe when we were on that expedition around the Realms? I think we called it "The Maleficarum War." Last time we left Warfang's walls everyone and their mothers were trying to kill us!"

"That was three years ago, Sparx," the drake replied sourly, his gaze filthy. "Honestly, did you _have_ to barge in screaming my name? Do you know how embarrassing that was?"

"I don't know. I'm still on the fence about whether Sparx interrupting an audience between you and the Marquess of Sacer is hilarious or horrible," Cynder commented, holding her magenta wings close to her body so as to make room for the cheetah next to her.

"Speaking of which, I do apologise for the Marquess' interest," Hunter interceded, his eyes contrite. "We had taken pains to avoid any unwanted political entanglements, if only for your sake, but Marquess Victor was insistent on having a discussion with you."

"I don't even understand why he was so determined to chat," the drake replied, leaning against the back of his seat and sighing. "All we discussed was the project, but every time I said something he'd reply with 'I know' or something equally as condescending. If he knows everything about my destination, why bother talking with me? Reputation?"

"Most likely," Cynder agreed. "PR is always a big deal with political types."

"You _are_ the most important person on the continent right now," Sparx mentioned, receiving an ill glare from Spyro.

"Fantastic," he spat, staring out the window of the cabin. Homes and other buildings slowly drifted by, along with the bystanders that watched their journey curiously. Children cowered behind the legs of mothers, labourers and couriers paused work to stare in wonder, eyes filled with equal parts apprehension and wonder. A young child, just barely younger than Spyro was before his adventure began, stepped forward to approach the rolling carriage but was swiftly reclaimed by a scolding dragoness, only somewhat taller than Spyro himself. The purple dragon almost snorted in disdain, unamused by the surprised gazes of the townspeople in his foul mood.

The carriage lurched suddenly as it came to a halt, jarring Spyro out of his brooding. He shot Hunter a quizzical, hopeful look, and the faint smile on the edge of the cheetah's lips as he glanced out of his window confirmed his hopes.

"It appears we have arrived. Feel free to exit the cart, young ones."

Spyro and Cynder fled the interior with the speed of a lightning strike, and with Sparx's flashing body hugging their sides they might as well have been lances of electricity bolting from the cart. Hunter followed at a far more leisurely pace, chuckling to himself as the two adolescents beheld the markets before them, a tangled mess of stalls, shoppers and merchants organised throughout the fountain square. Visitors of every race – but mostly dragon – flocked the intricate maze of colour and sound, browsing the wares for sale with both keen and naïve eyes. Everything was for sale, from fish to gowns to pots to antiques to armour to books to rugs to weapons.

"Wow," Spyro uttered, his eyes alight in awe. "Look at this place! It's so busy!"

"Today is the middle of the market festival," Hunter began, explaining the crowd. "Merchants from across Nubila gather to show off their wares and to attract interested buyers. Potential customers flock the area, looking for either cheap produce or a fancy antique from across the Realms. The festival truly displays some of Nubila's greatest native works, such as their renowned attire and jewellery, as well as introducing new materials from other nations."

"I gotta admit, this place looks pretty cool," Sparx commented, scratching his head idly. "Although I have a bad feeling about some of these shopkeepers. A few of 'em look pretty shady, like that lantern salesman over in the corner between those two houses. The guy gives me the creeps."

"What, are you scared of a few merchants, my little pixie?" Cynder teased, countering Sparx's dagger-like scowl with her own contempt smile.

"Hey, when you go through a near-death experience because you were trapped in a lantern, then you can complain," Sparx retorted. "Although why anyone would use your pitch black self as a light source in anyone's guess."

An enormous, thundering growl resounding from behind the group jarred them from their conversation, shaking the very air around them. Hunter was the only one who kept his composure, turning calmly to face the driver of their carriage, but without error Spyro, Cynder and Sparx all jumped ever so slightly at the rumble, Sparx even letting loose a tiny, high-pitched squeal in fright. Upon turning to face their driver, as one they all sighed in halfway relief, but nevertheless unnerved by the enormous creature tied to the carriage.

The creature was long and sinuous, a boxy, bony chest smoothly transitioning into a thick, long neck and a smooth waistline, and covered in rich, dark green scales. The whip of a tail that extended behind it trailed along the ground, kicking up dust and dirt as it fidgeted and flinched in impatience. Its hind legs were those of a dragon, only with four toes tipped with long, curved talons, but its forearms were missing, replaced by two pairs of enormous, leathery, copper wings tipper with thin, lengthy fingers that it rested against the ground same as any arm. Unlike a dragon however, its head was long, with four separate nostrils resting on the upper snout, eight large fangs jutting from its lips and concealing a row of smaller, needle-like teeth. Black, beady eyes stared at the group with unfocused intent, rapidly flicking around its surroundings.

The beast's rider, a tan-coloured drake with dark brown patches, an extravagant triangle hat with a prominent silver feather and a set of straps across his chest that held several pouches, gazed down at Hunter with an outstretched paw. "The trip will cost you thirty-two bits, thanks," were his only words, waiting expectantly for Hunter to count the money, and rapidly pocketing the dark-brown metal and flexing the reigns wrapped around his forearms. He shook the reigns, whacking them against the armoured sides of the reptile, and with a jump it opened its maw to let loose a loud roar before trotting away at a brisk pace, dragging the carriage away with it.

Spyro, Cynder and Sparx watched in apprehension as it disappeared into the crowd, the tan drake poking above the crowd and stalls for a few, brief moments more before disappearing behind the corners of the canyon of houses. Cynder sighed, shuddering.

"I don't like wyverns," she muttered, holding her wings close to her sides. "They unnerve me."

"I'm with you there," Sparx agreed.

Spyro simply stared in the direction the taxi had left in, an intrigued glint in his eyes. He grinned. "I want one."

His two companions stared at him incredulously, eyes wide and jaws open. "Wait," Cynder replied, attempting to process the drake's words. "You want a wyvern. To…what…ride?"

Spyro shrugged. "Why not? It looks cool. You've seen some of the Warfang guard parades. The wyvern-riding knights are probably my favourite part of the procedure."

"Oh yeah, because you know _everything_ about wyverns, don't you?" Sparx shot. "It's not like they're four metre tall lizards or anything. I mean, I'm sure it'd be pretty easy to take care of them. No biggie."

"It's called 'fantasizing.' I'm sure you do it all the time."

Hunter chuckled, drawing the attention of the three adolescents. "If we're all finished the banter, may we begin our exploration?" He began. "I'm sure you're all very eager to see what the marketplace has to offer, and I'm more than glad to—"

"Gabriel!" split the air, the bellowing voice soaring over the clamour of their surroundings. Nothing could have prepared Spyro, Cynder or Sparx for the downright hilarious sight of the fur on Hunter's neck standing on end like savannah grass, his pupils dilating in either fear or shock, or perhaps both. The shear fright evident in his blue eyes was a foreign sight for the cheetah, and Spyro openly wondered what could scare the stalwart scout so readily. "I thought I might find you wandering around with those two! Always been a glorified escort for the old ones, you have."

Everyone turned towards the source of the outburst, Spyro's eyebrow rocketing upward as he noticed a blue-furred cheetah approaching, recognizing her as the boisterous Maven. She was rapidly oncoming from the crowd flocking the markets, and the purple drake thought he may have seen Hunter taking a step back as she approached.

"Hello, Maven," he greeted lowly, maintaining his composure to the best of his ability. He stood upright, doing his best to hide his needle-like fur. "A pleasure to see you. You must be doing well if you're in the _Wolves'_ employ."

"Well, I consider it a step up from being secretary to the Guardians," Maven replied, her tongue oozing with sarcasm. She tilted her head in a nod towards the two juvenile dragons. "Good to see you two as well. Taking a walk in the marketplace I see."

"It's better than talking with marquises and noblemen," Spyro replied, grinning.

"You 'two?'" Sparx interrupted, emboldened. "There's more than two of 'em here, you know!"

Maven, at last noticing the dim speck that was Sparx, widened her eyes considerably for a moment before laughing. "Ah, the little pinprick himself, I see! My apologies, didn' even see you there, little Sparx. I've heard tales of your…ah, _escapades._"

"Of course you have!" The dragonfly replied, crossing his arms and smiling charismatically, although his inflated ego was not lost on anyone. "Sure, Spyro might be the figurehead, but I'm the one who did all the heavy lifting!"

"O'course."

"And what might you be here for, Maven?" Hunter interceded, his voice cautious. "To my knowledge, the _Wolves_ were occupied with logistical issues for the day. I would have imagined you be helping your fellow warriors."

Maven rolled her eyes, a toothy grin appearing on her snout. "Sadly, not all of us get to be stuck indoors waiting to be assigned rooms in the inn or showing the new labourers their quarters. Heath an' I were checking the stock of supplies in the airship and we're low on a few essential things, so we came to the marketplace lookin' to restock. Frustrating work this is, accordin' to the old man, but I prefer it over escorting newbies around any day."

Maven punched Hunter in the shoulder, receiving a slight grunt from the scout in return, and she smiled. "Gabriel, you're a lot more upbeat than last time I saw you. Have things finally gone your way for once?"

Hunter shrugged, rubbing his bruised arm. "In a way. The years following the war have certainly been more…hopeful than I'm used to. It's been somewhat difficult to adapt."

Maven snickered. "What, you mean having to smile for once?"

"I smile!"

"Oh come on, Gabriel, we all know that the only time you ever smiled was…" Maven trailed off for a second, apparently thinking better of her words, and shook her head. "Actually, never mind. You never smiled."

Another voice somehow made it past the barrier of the surrounding cacophony, reaching Maven's ears, and she swivelled her head rapidly in response. "Sorry fella's, but I've gotta go now," she muttered. "Heath's calling, and leaving him waiting is liable to get me quartered." She – gently, mind you – punched Hunter in the jaw, before turning to Spyro, Cynder and Sparx. "I'll see you all at the inn tonight. Don't get lost around here, ok? It's like a web, Sacer is."

"We won't," Cynder returned, grinning broadly, although her eyes betrayed her confusion. "Take care, Maven!"

As the azure girl ran off into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of colour, fabric and scales, Spyro turned towards Hunter, whose fur was still bristling, and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Gabriel? Who might that be?"

"Gabriel is my given name," Hunter explained, adjusting his cloak and refusing to make eye contact with the drake. "Gabriel Parker-Swiftfeet. 'Hunter' is simply a moniker I chose during my time serving the Guardians. It…distanced me from events I would rather not discuss right now."

Spyro nodded respectfully, choosing not to pry any further, but Cynder's curiosity was not sated. "And Maven? How do you know her?"

"Maven is an old flame of mine. I met her during the War, before I had been fully inducted into the Guardians' elites. I was just a forward scout back then, serving under Chief Prowlus before he decided to withdraw our tribe from the war, acceding from Bellum's military. She was from another tribe, near the edges of Arida, but soon after meeting her she abandoned her tribe and became freelance."

"See, that's always confused me," Spyro began. "You've always served the Guardians, and the Guardians alone, but they aren't aligned to any single military or nation, not even Warfang itself. How does that work?"

"The Guardians have their own small band of soldiers they enlist from outside sources, somewhat like a contract. These 'elites' are at the Guardians' beck and call, carrying out their will when events conspire to create a sense of danger or hostility, such as during wartime. While their office is a peaceful one, complete resignation to potentially dangerous forces is foolhardy, and so the band also acts as a guard of a sort when they are needed."

"So there are others like you?" Sparx asked, leaning against Spyro's left horn, his wings still. "All grim and dour with skills to match?"

Hunter scoffed. "While that is not the phrase I would use to describe us, yes, there were others like me, others of notable skills who the Guardians enlisted. However, many fell during the War, and those who survived were released from their contracts upon the close of the conflict. I was the only one who remained, willingly renewing my service to the Guardians."

Hunter beckoned for the group to follow him, navigating into the swarming crowd of people, merchants and stalls. The dragons and dragonfly quickly followed, swiftly being consumed in the tide of scales, fur and clothing. The two youths hugged the cheetah's legs, distrustful of their navigational ability in such a thick swarm of onlookers. Many people had begun staring, some standing not far away with open jaws and wide eyes at the sight of purple scales, and Spyro immediately felt the pressure of the crowd fall upon him. He gulped, doing his very best to ignore the observers, and continued to follow the cheetah.

Noticing his distress, the black dragoness next to him edged ever closer to him and nudged him in the side with her waist, smiling. "A nice day, isn't it?" She began, attempting to distract him from the judgemental gazes. "It's a bit cooler than Warfang is this time of year, but I think I prefer it that way. The Dragaon City feels like an oven during the heart of summer."

"I like this cooler weather," the purple drake replied, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath. "I suppose it comes from the marsh down the mountain trail. Either that, or this area of Nubila is just colder, wetter in general."

"An astute guess, Spyro," Hunter added. "Being the closest city to the southern continent other than the port town several kilometres south, the area around Sacer is quite cooler than the rest of the Realms, owing it to cool air from Vitae circulating north."

"I think I'll like Vitae as well, if it's cool."

"Oh, it's not cool, it's icy cold," Cynder commented, her eye twitching. "It snows near constantly down there, with summer being the only time you can see the ground in most areas. You'll be despising those words in a few days, trust me."

"If it's so frigid, why does anyone live there?"

Cynder shrugged. "It's their traditional home. Not to mention it's surprisingly bountiful for being covered in ice three quarters of the year. Besides, given how icy their personalities are, it makes sense for them to live in an equally-icy home."

Spyro was about to add something when Sparx stirred from his position on Spyro's horn, lighting up like a torch and immediately buzzing away from Spyro's head, almost blinding his brother with his sudden illumination. The dragonfly disappeared into the crowd towards a stall on the far side of the road, leaving Spyro, Cynder and Hunter staring quizzically at his tiny, glowing form from across the sea of people.

"Sparx, what are you doing?" Hunter queried.

"Something's probably got his attention, be it blade or bauble," Spyro replied derisively, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we'd better hurry before he runs off without paying for whatever he has his eyes on and gets us all in trouble."

As they crossed the elaborately paved road, passers-by standing back to allow their passage, Spyro began to examine the stall that had commandeered Sparx's shockingly short attention span. It was unremarkable for the most part, containing only several small trinkets and pieces of jewellery on the front stand, but what had Sparx's attention were the long, curved blades that hunt from the side by a thick leather belt. Spyro had to admit that they caught his attention as well – the metal of the blades was wrought from a kind of greenish grey steel, that when looked at in even light seemed no different to any ordinary steel, but as light refracted off of its many faces and vertexes lines of emerald flashed through the blade. The hilt was ornately crafted to resemble a rearing snake, curling up towards the pommel to form a small guard for the handle. The strangest part of the weapons, however, was the fact that from the pommel extended a several metre long chain made of the same metal used on the blade, flickering green in the sunlight.

"What are they?" Sparx asked in awe, eyes wide. "They look so…shiny! And _cool!_"

"They would be serpent blades, if I'm not mistaken," Hunter answered, kneeling next to the swords and examining their craftsmanship. "Very difficult to craft correctly and even harder still to wield with efficiency."

"What's with the chain?" Spyro questioned, staring at the flickering blades and trying to understand how the light reflected.

"The chain is how the blades are used. You see, serpent blades are not the same as simple longswords or other one-handed weapons. No, they are crafted for dragons and dragons only. In practice, serpent blades would be used more like a whip than a sword, holding the end of the chain along one's forearms and swinging them with grace and skill."

"That seems somewhat…impractical."

"They aren't intended to be practical," Cynder addressed, examining the swords with keen eyes. "They're more of a status symbol than anything. Since they take years of training to use, even on a basic level, without hurting the wielder in some form, serpent blades are a mark of both discipline and perseverance."

"Nevertheless, a skilled wielder of these weapons is unmatched on the battlefield," Hunter continued. "It would be a fearsome sight to see them in action. I, for one, have never seen their use, although I have heard that the Vulcan make great use of them."

Spyro's eyebrow shot up with phenomenal speed. "Vulcan?"

"Yeah, one of the old dragonclans," Cynder enlightened him, gesturing with a magenta wing towards the markings on her forehead, cheekbones, shoulders and lower back. "My markings indicate that I'm from one of the older clans, back before the founding of the four nations. While the dragonclans as a political faction have been mostly dissolved, the Vulcan are the only clan to remain active today. Their ancestral home was the Burned Lands, if I recall correctly, although Malefor's invasion of the place forced them to abandon it."

Spyro hummed, processing the information, before shaking his head in incredulity. "I still don't see these 'serpent blades' as practical in any form. Anyone who uses these in combat is asking to be decapitated."

"Can you let me have fun for once in my life, Spyro?" Sparx complained, crossing his arms and pouting. "I mean, how cool would they look on you! You've got all the attributes of a hero, like the selflessness, kindness, and courage, so now all you need is a wicked-cool weapon and you're set!"

Spyro made no comment, gazing in disbelief at his brother. "So you _want_ me to get decapitated?"

"Who's to say you'll get decapitated?"

"Me, considering how sharp those things look."

"Oh, _come on!_ Be dangerous for once!"

"_You're_ the one who complains any time we get dangerous!"

"Pfft, I do not!"

Cynder and Hunter simply looked on in exasperation, sharing a knowing smile between themselves, watching with amusement as the two unlikely brothers continued their foolish, yet impossibly endearing argument. Cynder in particular had a smile stretching to her eyes, and couldn't help the surge of…_something_ that spread throughout her, watching Sparx and Spyro banter on.

_It's going to be a fun day,_ she thought.

- ҉ -

The rush of howling gales was the first sensation Spyro registered.

High upon the summit of the rocky Sacer Outlook, gazing out beyond the stony-grey canyons and spires of the city, Spyro dug his claws into the slick grey stone that was the only thing between him and the dagger-like towers of the city below. The view, encompassing both the entirety of the capital city, the mountain range that crept along the horizon like a distant, sleeping lizard, the silver-white fog that shrouded the Silver Marsh in obscurity, and the searing yellow orb of the sun dancing precariously on the edge of a snow-white cloud cover, brought back memories both wondrous and terrifying of broken isles above a volcanic cloud, the last broken custodians before the final showdown with a malefic power.

The golden spot of light that was his brother hovered precariously over the edge, tiny scaled wings beating rapidly to offset the raging wind currents around him. "Whoa," he muttered between grit teeth. "The wind up here is stronger than I thought!"

"Get back here, little pixie," Cynder commented, the dragoness hunched over with wings held close, warding off the biting breeze. "While I don't care if you get blown away, I'm sure Spyro does, and I'd rather not have to get my shoulder drenched from his tears after you get rammed into a rock and splat or something."

"Likewise, blacky," Sparx spat in return, reluctantly relocating to his comfortable seat in the crook of Spyro's horn. "Though I don't think Spyro would shed many tears over you."

"Sparx, if you don't be quiet, I'll squash you myself," Spyro threatened, lifting his lip in a snarl, but his shining brother simply nocked a lopsided grin and chuckled to himself, ignorant as to the purple drake's hostility. Cynder merely shook her head, rolling her eyes and sighing.

"One of these days, you're going to make someone angry, and we won't be there to hide behind," Cynder muttered. "Then we'll see how you handle yourself."

"More than likely you'll eat me first," Sparx stated.

Cynder flashed the dragonfly a grin, exposing her long, serrated teeth and eliciting an anxious shudder from the insect. "You know me so well."

"Honestly," Spyro began. "You'd think you two had a blood feud or something similar. Forget the courts, most of my time is spent trying to keep you two from killing each other!"

"Oh, we are not that bad!" Cynder replied indignantly. "Well, maybe _he_ is, but at least I'm civilized!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Sparx countered. "You just agreed that you'd eat me."

Cynder stuck out her tongue in disgust, lifting her upper lip. "Ugh, no thank you. I just like scaring you. You'd probably taste disgusting, like some kind of yellow mush. Sure, you're all nice and crunchy, but the insides would probably be really slimy."

"Why are we discussing my _texture?_"

"Dear ancestors, it's like a field of enmity and veiled insults is cast over you two the moment you're within thirty metres of each other," Spyro interrupted. "You're the worst combination ever!"

"I don't think Cynder really _veils_ her insults," Sparx mentioned, avoiding Cynder's lashing tail.

"We're not that bad," Cynder complained.

Spyro flared his wings and opened his mouth to continue, preparing something about how "Yes, you're both absolutely terrible and would probably petition the Ambassadors for the right to declare war on one another if it was within your power", but at that precise moment a massive, powerful gust of wind scraped the peak of the outlook, picking up dirt, litter and small stones and flinging them over the edge of the cliff. Unfortunately for Spyro, who had just spread his wings expressively, was caught in the heavy gale and was forced forward over the Outlook, crimson membranes folding roughly in response to the strength of the gust. The purple drake, completely unprepared for such a sudden shift, yelped loudly as his footing was swept out from under him and he was sent hurtling over the cliff, staring bluntly down towards the city below, surrounded by fragments of falling stone and followed by the startled cries of his companions.

For a split second, everything was still. Not a stone moved, the air was still, and the shocked outbursts of Spyro's friends were gone. The purple dragon blinked, looking around as he floated in mid-air with confusion. The fragments of rock around him were motionless, floating in the same manner as he was. Upon closer inspection, squinting his eyes prudently, Spyro noticed that the tiny stones were moving very slowly, as if the pull of gravity was weakened. His surroundings – the stone behind him, the city below him, the sky above him and the sun over him – were tinted a deep azure, their colouration saturated with the hue of the ocean.

And then as suddenly as the stillness descended, the azure shroud lifted and Spyro felt himself hurtling towards the earth once more.

Sharp talons dug into his stomach, tearing gashes into his purple scales and eliciting a pain outcry from the purple drake, but nevertheless halting his fall. Spyro frantically flailed about for a moment, latching onto the rocky handholds behind him and embedding his claws into the cracks in the stone. Cynder held onto him with all her might, steadily pulling him up and onto the platform, grunting all the while. Sparx, having been taken off-guard by the sudden misplacement of his support, hovered further out from the cliff face, spinning in the wind with clear confusion.

"By the ancestors, are you alright Spyro?" Cynder asked with a wavering voice, heaving Spyro over the ledge and back up onto the safety of the Outlook, well away from the precarious edge. Sparx was in pursuit, hovering worriedly around Spyro's head. "You scared me there!"

"Yeah, I'm…fine," Spyro assured, looking curiously towards the ledge. "The wind just took me by surprise."

"Yeah, well it took _us_ by surprise as well!" Sparx expressed with anxiety, before a quizzical expression adorned his face. "I mean, I know you can fly and all, but it's a pretty long fall…"

"Flying doesn't mean anything when there's windshear like that," Cynder explained. "You would have been thrown against the cliff within moments! _Try_ not to kill yourself!"

"Forget about Spyro crying," Sparx interjected, incapable of passing up the opportunity. "I think _you're_ the one who'd be drenching someone's shoulder!"

Cynder simply shot Sparx a fatal glare, eyes glittering with lethal intent, before wrapping her wings around Spyro's body, taking the purple dragon by surprise. The drake hesitantly returned the embrace, concealing Cynder from the world with his bronze-and-scarlet wings.

"Don't do that," was Cynder's only response.

After a few moments, Spyro spread his wings to allow Cynder some space, but she remained bound to the drake for a precious few seconds longer before removing her face from his chest, taking several steps back and looking away in embarrassment. Spyro likewise found it difficult to make eye contact with the dragoness, and coughed awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. Thankfully, his brother knew exactly how to calm the tension, mockingly shoving two fingers down his throat and gagging in disgust, receiving another dagger-like scowl from Cynder and a grateful, amused chuckled from Spyro.

"Anyway," he began, staring at the ledge with apprehension, and all that lay beyond it. "I think we've had enough of the Outlook for one day. Come on, let's head back down and see what else Hunter wants to show us."

- ҉ -

_Warfang's Great Library was a towering structure, the tallest building in Warfang. Its rounded rooftop shielded its innards from the harsh gaze of the sun, sparse windows on the circular architecture allowing rays of warmth to illuminate the circular labyrinth. The tower was held together by a single, central staircase that supported the entire seventeen floors. Each floor was a maze in and of itself, winding canyons of bookshelves creating a puzzle for any and all who dared to challenge the confounding spire._

_The uppermost floor was a haven for any and all who wished to retreat from the world undisturbed, hidden from prying eyes. The entire floor was covered in a film of darkness, candles usually tended by the library staff having been extinguished by cautious occupants, and thus the only source of light was the bright hand of the sun reaching through a massive, gaping wound in the rooftop dome, another scar from the early days of the War. Frightened, anxious bystanders hid in the shadows of the bookcases, watching the newcomers with worried eyes, wary of their hidden sanctuary being ruptured by their famous visitor. The purple drake made no attempts to hide his presence, standing proudly on the pile of broken bricks that had yet to be cleared, lilac scales illuminated by the gaze of the sun._

_The massive earthen drake behind him sat on the threshold of light and darkness, his forefront lit up by the sunlight yet his behind was hidden in the shroud of nonappearance. He was morose, eyes hollow, mouth hardened into an emotionless line. His entire body was still as stone, the only thing differentiating him from a statue being his slowly moving chest, his signal of life. Their only company was the silent onlookers, outcasts who wished to remain undisturbed, watching with curious eyes._

"_I thought he was the first," Spyro began, gazing out over the quietly buzzing city. The hum of communing crowds and rolling carts flowed from the street floor, carried up by the currents of the wind. Warfang was ignorant. "And yet, now I find that there were tens, if not hundreds, of predecessors? Those that shared my burden?"_

"_Perhaps not hundreds," Terrador replied, sighing deeply. The elder's body seemed drained of energy, lacking any and all enthusiasm, as if reliving painful times. "But yes, that is true. Had you not heard of that? Did you not know of those who came before you?"_

"_No. I was led to believe Malefor was the first. That was why he became so powerful, wasn't it? Because no one knew how to handle his rapidly-growing power?"_

"_While it is true that his constant growth in strength was unprecedented, he was most definitely not the first purple dragon to grace this world," Terrador explained. "He was simply the first in many centuries. War, progress, and natural disaster had clouded us as to how to treat one with such power, and thus he was given understanding he never should have possessed. How did you not know this? We assumed you were familiar with that knowledge…"_

"_No. The Chronicler told me he was the very first purple dragon, and I the second," Spyro replied, closing his eyes and lowering his head. "So you can understand my shock to find out that not all of my kind were murdering monstrosities who tried to destroy the world."_

"_I imagine there is quite a bit of relief there, in addition to your surprise."_

"_Oh, you have no idea," Spyro sighed, his upper body lurching in relaxation. "After that first wave of comfort, however, I began to grow confused. Why would the Chronicler mislead me? What purpose did that serve other than to confound me later? It's the same with Ignitus. Why did he tell me otherwise?"_

"_Perhaps it was simplicity," Terrador suggested, shrugging ever so slightly with his colossal girth. "You were barely fifteen when it happened. I doubt the Chronicler, or Ignitus, wished to cloud your mind with over-complex history and politics. For all you knew, in your youth, Malefor was simply an evil man who had to be defeated by heroes such as yourself."_

"_I can't say I didn't see it that way," Spyro agreed._

"Spyro? Hey, you still there?"

The purple dragon was snapped out of his misty reminiscence by a violent flash of golden light, and the blinding pain that it caused in his eyes. With a startled outcry and a whispered curse, Spyro stared at his brother with tired eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm still here Sparx. No need to worry about me drifting off."

Arriving at the Library of Vetus Haruspex, Spyro, Cynder and Sparx quickly dived into the endless store of tomes and manuscripts found within. Much to both Cynder and Spyro's delight, Sparx was the one who took to the library with the most vigour, darting around the daunting bookshelves on a mission – although his slight frame made it necessary for the others to pick up his books for him. One such book, which Sparx was pointing to with adamant fervour, was lying on a bookshelf nearby, and the dragonfly's insistence was far from ignorable.

"Maybe you should start working out," Spyro jested, inciting a flustered look from his brother as he placed the tome on the table next to him, reclaiming his seat not far away.

"Hey, don't start picking on me about size," Sparx exclaimed indignantly, hovering over the book, titled _Impetus of Nature_. "That's just plain unfair!"

"I'm actually kind of impressed," Cynder said, sitting comfortably near a table and lazily flicking through her own volume. Unlike Sparx's, hers had images to complement the text, and the language used was far less extravagant, although it could still be used as a doorstopper. "I mean, I didn't even know you _could_ read, let alone a book that big."

Sparx pouted, ignoring Spyro's laughter on the other side of the table. He subconsciously grew brighter, illuminating the dimly-lit room with his own brand of gold. "I went to school! I learned to read! I was a good boy, unlike _Spyro._"

When Cynder raised her eyebrow quizzically, Spyro rolled his eyes and grinned broadly. "I had a habit of wandering away during our daily break," he explained. "You wouldn't think to look at us, but Sparx was definitely the more studious of us, if only because he wanted to impress dad. That doesn't mean he was _smarter_, though."

"As if. I was always better than you in school."

"Sorry, who can shoot fire from his mouth?"

"How does that relate to _anything?_"

Sparx threw up his arms in defeat. "That's it. I've had enough of you two. I'm out of here." He turned to leave, but he paused halfway and stared at his book, eliciting another chuckle from the two dragons before me. "And help me take my book with me!"

"Alright, alright, calm down," Cynder said, unable to control her giggling. "Come on, where do you want to go?"

As Cynder escorted Spyro and his reading material away, Spyro sat there chuckling, his own manuscript forgotten. Reminiscing about his old family life was nice – it felt almost liberating. Only then did Spyro realise how happy he'd been today. It hadn't even been more than a week since he left Warfang, and he already felt cheerier, like a cloud had been lifted from his mind. Away from the grievances of the court and the associated burdens, he felt free.

Spyro rolled over to where Cynder had been sitting and examined the book that lay exposed before him. "_Cultural Choreography of Central Arida, h-uh. I wonder what she's doing reading about this?"_

Just as quickly Spyro rolled back over to his position just as Cynder poked her head around a bookcase and reclaimed her seat. Spyro quickly delved back into his own thoughts, but Cynder chuckled and distracted him.

"Did you peruse my book while I was gone, Spyro?" Cynder queried, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "Find anything interesting?"

"I never knew you were into dancing," Spyro replied with apparent interest, his own tome all but forgotten.

Cynder shrugged, closing the cover and adopting a more relaxed position. Her tail had begun to sway back and forth gently. "It's just a passing interest, I'm sure. I became interested after I saw those dancers during the Fisher's Festival in Warfang a few months back." She sighed, flattened her wings against her back. "Warfang is rather lacking in any instructors though. I'd love to learn a style someday, although I'm not exactly sure where I'd begin."

"So that's why you're researching."

"Yeah." Cynder gestured towards Spyro's book. "What about you? What are you reading about?"

Spyro chuckled, his wings flaring slightly as he began flicking through the pages. Images of lilac-hued dragons passed quickly as he drifted through it, giving Cynder an instant impression of his research. "I'm just looking into some of the purple dragons before me. I have a fixation with the past, after all. It's nice reading about all the good things they've done for the Realms."

"Have any of them done something as grandiose as not only saving the world, but putting it back together?"

Spyro chuckled. "No. I'm the only one in that regard."

Cynder's smile lit up Spyro's mood, but after a second of silence she continued. "What have the other purple dragons done?" she asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, I know they're meant to be heroes or prophets and whatnot, but what exactly have they _done?_"

"Well, it varies depending on the dragon, see," Spyro began, flicking through the pages in search. "Take Avos for example. During the first several decades of his life he wasn't particularly impressive for a Purple Dragon, but when the Second Ape Uprising began he was instrumental in its quelling. Bellum likely would have fallen if not for him. Or Vetus, the dragoness that the Library here is named after. Her era was, luckily, a peaceful one, and her aid was centred around advancement in technology and the preservation of knowledge. The moles might be credited for the invention of the zeppelin, but it was Vetus who developed the steam engine that makes that possible."

"Then there was The Nameless, the first purple dragon. We don't know what gender they were, but they were responsible for first uniting the dragonclans into the four nations, and civilizing the other races of the Dragon Realms." The drake grinned. "They'd be considered the most 'important' purple dragon."

Cynder hummed, her body relaxing. She rested her head on the chair, tilting her body to the side for a more comfortable position. Her book lay open in front of her, abandoned. "Heh, at least you'll be remembered for something important. They treat purple dragons so reverently, but you'll be honoured throughout history for what you've done. It's the least you deserve."

"It wasn't just me, you know," Spyro retorted, gesturing to Cynder. The dragoness smiled. "I had a great friend helping me."

"Maybe, but it's you they'll remember. Right now…" Cynder's tail had begun to sway again. "I'm just a footnote."

Spyro frowned sadly. "Cynder…"

"I mean, I prefer that I guess," Cynder quickly addressed. "It's better than having everyone clamouring for your attention all day, watching your every move. I never wanted fame, but I do want some people to notice me."

Spyro smiled. "People do notice you. The important people notice you. _I_ notice you. Is that what you want?"

Cynder chuckled, but Spyro knew it was a terse, forced laugh. "Yeah, it is."

- ҉ -

Sacer donned an entirely different ambience upon night's reign. Warfang, as the most important cultural and political city in the Realms, was buzzing with activity after sundown, with youths and young adults of every species and background gathering to enjoy the city's entertainment and services, Sacer was by nature much more subdued. Its secluded, secure location prevented many from visiting the city from pleasure, keeping many adventurers and travellers from flocking the streets, and thus the night was a calm, quiet experience.

Despite the purple drake's love of partying, Sacer's unexpected nature was not unwelcome. He had never had many opportunities in Warfang to simply relax, even at night, and so the drake quickly found himself enjoying the city's calmness. He could walk down a street at night, doused in darkness except for slight pinpricks of light emanating from lanterns placed along the sidewalk, with his friends in complete silence, the only sounds interrupting his solace being the slow hum of airship engines or the hushed whispers from an open second-story window.

Hunter was escorting both the drake and dragoness, leading Spyro and Cynder down the pathway towards a large source of light at the end of the street. Cynder's head hung low, her eyes half-closed in lethargy, her breathing slow. Spyro was likewise exhausted, allowing his tail to drag along the rough, broken ground behind him, wings hanging limply beside him. Spark, the dragonfly's ever-present glow having dimmed substantially, was resting on his brother's back, snoring gently in the throes of sleep.

"The inn is up ahead, at the end of the square," Hunter explained, the adolescents barely lifting their heads to acknowledge his words. "We're almost there."

"Dear ancestors, I'm beat," Spyro muttered.

"So am I," Cynder agreed, trudging slowly by his side. "I haven't felt this tired in months."

"You wouldn't think that a stroll through the city would be so tiring, would you?"

Cynder scoffed. "Yeah, a 'stroll'. Pretty sure we did more than that."

Spyro rolled his eyes and shook his head, too exhausted to worry himself with Cynder's verbal sparring, and instead turned towards Hunter before him. "So how good is this inn we'll be visiting? I assume the Guardians have spared no expense, and have us sequestered away in a five-star penthouse fit for the Sovereign?"

The cheetah merely chuckled, his mud-coloured cloak shaking slightly. "Sadly, I must disappoint you. The inn is clean and serviceable, but hardly what one would call extravagant accommodation. The rest of the _Wolves_ are set to stay there for the night as well, so you'll have no shortage of company."

"What of you?" Cynder queried. "Will you be staying with us?"

"Alas, I have other duties to attend," Hunter replied, shrugging tiredly. "As a servant to the Guardians, my role never truly ends. I have matters to discuss with both them and Vates, and so I'll be occupied most of the night and resting elsewhere."

"To be honest, I've never actually seen you sleep," Spyro commented, a quiet laugh escaping his throat as they entered into the vast square. The opening was circular, with a large, ornate stone fountain in the image of two cheetah holding a staff placed directly in the centre, slowing drizzling water from the orb on the staff's tip. Steel lanterns surrounded the square, illuminating the area with a faint, light glow. The sound of trickling water immediately soothed Spyro's mind, and he felt himself tire rapidly, yawning visibly. "Do you ever stop?"

"Occasionally I do."

In the momentary pause in the conversation, Spyro twitched as he noticed voices emanating from the building not far in front of them. The inn stood out against the tall, prismatic houses around it, its serviceable and gargoyle-studded architecture a far cry from the homely and quaint construction beside it. The building was only two stories tall, with an angular roof and brightly-lit windows. A large wooden banner hung from the main door, flawlessly etched with the words _The Winking Wyvern._ The grandiosity of the inn, which was quite impressive for something so mundane, startled Spyro enough that he almost didn't notice the three figures arguing just outside the door. Upon closer inspection the purple drake realised that Vates was one of the quarrellers, and his curiosity was instantly piqued.

"What is Vates doing here?" Hunter muttered, echoing Spyro's thoughts. "He should be with the Guardians."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Cynder suggested.

As the group drew closer, fragments of phrases began to drift into earshot. Pleas of "She scares me!" and rebuttals of "He's a big baby", alongside exasperated sighs of "I don't have time for this" punctuated the night air, and as the conversation began to make sense Spyro couldn't help but trade an amused smile with his dragoness friend.

"Look, I'm running out of time, so you two will have to come to a decision, and quickly," Vates pressed, rubbing his brow with tense fingers and tapping a paw impatiently upon the stone pavement. "I don't care _what_ happens, as long as you're both alive and without grievous injury in the morning."

"Please Vates, I can't sleep in the same room as her!" The grey figure of Silvester pleaded, wings wide. "She'll kill me!"

"Oh, please, stop whining Silvester," the red-orange dragoness replied. She jabbed the young drake in the side, revelling in her superior height and build. "What are you, a baby? If it's such a big deal, why don't you just go to another room? I'm sure someone else would gladly trade with you, like Beatrice."

"I'm not sleeping elsewhere without my brother," Silvester countered ardently.

"And here, things get complicated," Vates muttered under his breath.

"Might we interrupt?" Spyro interjected, drawing the startled eyes of the three quarrellers. He strode forward, taking the lead, and joined the conversation with bold purpose. "What's the issue?"

"Ah, Spyro, you have impeccable timing," Vates commented, adjusting the upturned collar of his cloak. He gestured to the two adolescents next to him, and sighed deeply. "We have a bit of a problem with rooms in the inn. Silvester and his brother were paired with Ana, but the dragoness has had a terrible history of pestering the poor boy. I'm not sure whose brilliant idea this was, but if we try and change accommodations now everything will go southward, I'm sure."

"This wouldn't be a problem if Silvester would just grow a backbone," Anareta spat receiving a fearful gaze from the wind drake.

"Is this why you've been held up?" Hunter queried, frowning slightly. "The Guardians will be waiting for you."

"I know, but I cannot leave these two alone or something bad will happen. I can feel it."

Spyro and Cynder exchanged confused glances, the black dragoness shrugging in helplessness, and Spyro momentarily turned to the primrose cheetah next to him. "Hold on Hunter, how many beds are there to a room?"

"Three to a room," Hunter replied. "Why?"

"That means we have three beds, doesn't it?"

"That would be correct." Hunter's eyes lit up in understanding.

Spyro grinned and turned towards Vates, a triumphant smile commandeering his snout. "Vates," he began, his voice taking on a bold tone. "I have a solution. Anareta can bunk with us, if she wants."

A thunderbolt shot down Cynder's spine at his words.

"Ah, how kind of you Spyro," Vates commented, grinning broadly. Silvester visibly sighed, bowing his head in relief, whereas Anareta merely flicked her head and stared at Spyro and Cynder inquisitively. "Are you content with this solution, Silvester? What about you, Ana?"

"Y-yes, this is a grand solution," Silvester replied, idly fiddling with his mechanical paw. "At the very least, I can sleep peacefully tonight."

"Don't tempt me," Anareta countered, jabbing Silvester in the side with the pointed end of her wing. "I might just sneak out in the middle of the night and set your blanket on fire."

Ignoring Silvester's plea, Vates shook his head and gestured towards Hunter. "Gabriel, shall we go? I'm sure the Guardians are waiting on us, and I'd rather not waste any more of their time with mundane issues."

"One moment," Hunter turned to Spyro and Cynder, pulling two small keys from his tunic pocket. "Here, take these. Your room is the fourteenth door on the left atop the second floor. Simply speak with the innkeeper and he shall guide you, if you so need it."

"Thank you Hunter," Spyro replied thankfully, taking the key – which was attached to a small chain – and examined it momentarily before placing it around his neck. "We'll see you in the morning. You as well Vates."

"Yes, sleep well," Cynder wished, abnormally subdued.

"Thank you for your help tonight," Vates spoke, his voice terse, if grateful. He turned to his employees, glaring at the two of them intensely. Silvester immediately straightened himself, whereas Anareta simply glanced at him with idle interest. "Now, I want no trouble from either of you tonight. I'm tired of the little rivalry festering between you. If I hear even a word of trouble from Spyro, Cynder, or anyone else tomorrow morning, you'll both be looking forward to scrubbing the airship engines for a week!"

Anareta and Silvester nodded respectfully as the two cheetahs strode off into the darkness, disappearing around a corner in short order. Silvester, fearing Anareta's wrath now that his guardian angel had left, muttered a few words about getting ready for bead before fleeing into the inn, rapidly dispersing behind a corner, leaving Spyro, Cynder, and Anareta alone in the night on the doorstep of _The Winking Wyvern_. The red-scaled dragoness turned to face her new roommates, and from the swift flickering of her eyes it was obvious she was examining her companions the same as Cynder was.

Anareta's scales were an odd colour, sitting somewhere on the spectrum between a rich, blood-red and a fiery orange. Her underside was black as ash, smooth and covered in small, rounded scales in opposition to the usual plated underbelly of most draconic species. Her forepaws and ankles were covered in the same ashen scales, as were her wings, but her membranes were a bright, rich yellow, faintly covered with orange designs reminiscent of dancing flames – and unlike Spyro _or_ Cynder, her wings had a single digit. Her snout, which was slanted and curved like a snake's – not at all dissimilar to Cynder's own, yet boasting a more defined structure – was painstakingly decorated with an assortment of ashen-black tattoos, obviously a remnant of dragonclan affiliation. And yet, despite the rest of her body glaringly contrasting against anything else Cynder had ever seen, her most notable feature was the literal mane of fire that stretched from the back of her head to her tailtip, following the contours of her spine. The flame, crackling quietly in the evening silence, glowed a dim orange and illuminated the dragoness' surroundings with the self-same glow.

Anareta smiled, exposing a large, vicious fang on her upper left lip, much larger than the rest of her teeth. Both Spyro and Cynder failed to hide their surprise, eyes wide, but Anareta merely chuckled with a heartiness rarely seen in her gender. "In case you've forgotten, the name's Anareta. Ana for short, if you feel like it."

"A pleasure to meet you…again, I guess." Spyro returned Anareta's laugh. "I take it you don't get along well with Silvester?"

Anareta shrugged, her smile persisting. "I just enjoy teasing the boy. He's a nice guy, but he really needs to learn to stand up for himself."

"And you think you're the one to teach him that?" Cynder queried, forcing a jovial tone to her voice.

"If not me, who else?"

"Well said," Spyro commented, grinning broadly. He paused for a moment, casting a judgemental glance over his surroundings, before continuing. "Come on, we should head to our room before we start going into each other's histories, and," the purple drake gestured to the snoring, glowing golden figure who still rested in the crook between his wings. "This guy over here needs somewhere to lay down, and I'd rather he not make a home out of my back."

Finding their room was a trifle, simply following Hunter's description, and within the half hour all three adolescents had contentedly set themselves into their new home for the night. It was a spacious room – surprising for such a small inn – and the three beds spoken of were all suited for their species. Spyro quietly set Sparx down on a window sill, supported by a small collection of hand towels and pillows, before lighting the hearth along the western wall and taking a seat in front of it, quickly joined by his two dragoness companions, one on either side of him. The position caused a minor spark of amusement to flare in his mind, but he stifled his shockingly provocative thoughts.

"So, Anareta," Cynder began, juggling a small cup of steaming coffee between her paws. Spyro noted that her tail was unnaturally still, despite her placid mood. "I've seen you around the airship before, keeping company with the wolves. You're one of their rookies, right?"

Anareta was sprawled out along the ground ungracefully, the very antithesis to Cynder's elegant pose. Her mane burned dimmer than before, stray embers escaping the pitch-black scales along her spine. Now that he was closer, Spyro could see that her upper lip had a tiny bump on the left hand side, where her enlarged fang would be.

"Eh, yeah. I'm the newest addition to their line-up, after Belle," Anareta confirmed, eyelids drooping lazily. "I joined in Warfang after I proved myself capable enough. They've got some fairly inane requirements for membership, I'll have you know."

"Like what?" Spyro queried.

"Well, for one, you have to have some sort of experience in either a military sector or a mercenary organization," Anareta began, lifting her head. "If you have someone who can confirm your history – and they can't just be some friend you've convinced to lie for you – you're invited to assist them on a few missions for a cut of the profits. Once they assure that you're up to their standards, you can 'officially' join the group and call yourself a _Wolf_. I was inaugurated about a month ago."

"How's living with the _Wolves_ treating you?" Cynder added, taking a small sip of her drink as the warm fire crackled in the background. "They seem fairly laid-back."

"Oh yeah, they're _very_ laid-back when it comes to off-duty business, but when you're actually _on_ a mission you're expected to be unfailingly compliant to the chain of command. It doesn't matter whether you're boisterous, quiet or sarcastic, as long as you remember to shut up when your commanding officer tells you to." The dragoness sighed. "It's somewhat frustrating when you're one of the youngest members, and everyone is still stuck in the war-mentality, but it's better than most other jobs I've had."

"You haven't always been a mercenary?"

"Nah, I used to take whatever jobs came along. A bit of a wanderer, I am."

Spyro's eyebrow rose. "You're a traveller? Doesn't your family worry about you?"

"I can't say I have any family alive," Anareta replied nonchalantly, completely unfazed. "My dad passed away when I was fairly young, and I never knew my mother or any of dad's extended family. I don't think he had any that he kept in contact with."

"I'm sorry," Cynder apologised. "I know the feeling of not having any family."

Spyro's wing twitched habitually, but he forced control over it before he embraced Cynder. Anareta just shrugged.

"Eh, I don't worry that much. It's all in the past now," she explained, her face unreadable. Nevertheless, Spyro noticed that her body was stiff, as if her self-control was reluctant. "Besides, I get to travel around the Realms. How can I complain?"

"Aren't you a bit young for travelling though?" Cynder asked, adjusting her position and inching slightly closer to the lavender drake to her right. Spyro did his best to ignore the subtle movement. "Actually, I don't even know how old you are. You couldn't be much older than either of us."

"I'm twenty one, same as you," Anareta stated, scratching at her forepaw.

Cynder giggled, gently jabbing Spyro in the side with her paw. "And that makes mister saviour here the youngest."

Spyro sighed at Anareta's resulting laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I'm younger than the jet-black terror here. She's older by a few months."

"Aww, how cute," Anareta teased, inciting an indignant growl from Spyro.

The mention of the word _cute_ sent the warning bells in Cynder's mind, and her tail jerked uncharacteristically at the smile – lopsided, teeth bared – that Anareta was directing in Spyro's direction. With logic that never would have spawned from an objective mind, Cynder stretched out a magenta wing like a winter cloak and clothed it over Spyro's back possessively, leaning against the violet drake's body and nuzzling his neck like a wyvern indulging its hoard of treasure.

"He's a dork," she began, using the insult affectionately. "But he'll do. He's managed to make it this far, after all, and for some reason he's succeeded in keeping me around him all this time."

Spyro's reaction to Cynder's advances was blatant, the youthful dragon jumping visibly as she draped a wing over his shoulders and rubbed up against his neck, amethyst eyes opened wide. The drake's tail with rigid as stone, and he was staring at the dragoness next to him with a potent, inebriating cocktail of apprehension and delight, but when a slight snort split the relative silence, Spyro's eyes darted to the red-scaled figure of Anareta, who was watching the two adolescents with a broad-rimmed smirk on her snout. At Spyro's glance, she rolled her eyes in amusement and shook her head quietly, as if muttering "Get a room."

It struck Spyro how blatant she was being, but he maintained his façade of friendship and gently hugged Cynder in return, before – somewhat reluctantly – extricating himself from her embrace.

Interrupting the urgent silence, Anareta yawned loudly and stretched her wings wide. "I don't know about you two songbirds," she began, standing up and shaking herself vigorously. The remnants of her mane – tiny, bright orange stars of heat – flickered around her body before vanishing altogether, leaving her back bare. "But I think I'm gonna hit the hay. Want to join me?"

Spyro and Cynder exchanged glances, before nodding. "Yeah, I'm fairly tired myself," Spyro replied, rising to his feet and abandoning the hearth to die on its own.

The beds were claimed faster than uncharted land, the downy pits of pillows and mattresses swiftly occupied by draconic youths. Spyro leapt into bed last, sitting halfway covered by blankets and half exposed as he curiously observed Anareta, a poignant question refusing to be dampened into idle thought.

The red hued dragoness climbed into her bed with a strange caution, keeping anything dry or otherwise flammable well away from her back, which was still smouldering. She blinked once, rapidly, and the dying flames were extinguished in an instant, but the charcoal-black scales that ran down her spine nevertheless hummed with palpable heat, rivets of orange tracing between the cracks in her skin. Anareta waited a moment as her back began to cool, the fiery glow dimming significantly, before hesitantly crawling underneath her blanket and turning to face Spyro, at last noticing his observant expression. She smirked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What?" She asked. "Something caught your eye."

"Just curious about your mane, that's all," Spyro replied, wrapping himself in a shell of blankets and folding into the mass of doonas. "I was wondering how you'd go to sleep with it."

Anareta snorted. "Yeah, just let me set fire to the place, why don't you. If you need to know, I can extinguish it whenever I want. It's still hot for a few moments, but that's to be expected."

"Interesting."

"Now, if that's everything, can I go to sleep now?" The dragoness deadpanned. "I'm actually kind of tired, you know."

On the other side of the room, in a separate bed, Cynder overheard their conversation even buried in the sheets as she was. It struck her quietly, softly, but strongly. A shard of jealousy that she had never felt before sprung up and struck her in the gut. Without thinking, she lifted her head out of the covers. "Hey, you two, Anareta was the one who wanted to go to bed. Try not to stay up all night talking. I'd like to get _some_ sleep tonight."

A giggle and a soft "sorry" was all she received in turn, but their voices died down and she was left to her own devices. Cynder buried her head in the pillow, confused over her outburst, and sighed. _I can't be feeling jealous now, can I?_ She thought pensively, watching the dying hearth from a crack in the sheets. _That would be very, very bad. You're just overreacting, you're not used to Spyro talking with other women your age. You'll be fine._

But inside, she knew she wasn't.

* * *

I usually don't leave afterwords, but given Anareta's introduction I found it prudent to do so.

From your first thoughts, you're most likely seeing her as a replacement or competition for Cynder - while it has a hint of truth to it, her role is far more important than a mere rival for Spyro's affections. The stereotypical plot of "new girl comes along, messes with Spyro and Cynder, contributes nothing to the plot" gets on my nerves just as much as yours, and I've endeavored to avoid that with Anareta. Simply give me the benefit of the doubt, and you shall see.

And yes, I do suppose it was a bad introduction, but she needed to be introduced as quickly as possible.


	8. Chapter 4 - King's Gambit

School is abysmal, as usual. Once again I'm sorry for the delay, although I hope this chapter is a bit more...entertaining, than the previous.

* * *

King's Gambit

_The opening amphitheatre to the quad towers was an awe-inspiring sight. The enormous plaza, with a centrepiece of an elaborate, white-slate fountain, jets of waters cascading down its intricately carved glyphic surface, was a masterpiece of design. The plaza was ringed by a chain of white support pillars, followed by another ring of buildings from which swarms of people of all the myriad races emerged, all dressed in elaborate, extravagant clothing. Beyond the plaza, beyond a stone-paved pathway railed by column supports, the four, lance-like buildings that composed the quad towers of the Warfang Council Citadel scraped the sky like enormous mountains, comprised of carved, red brick stone set on an isle in the middle of a raging river, hanging almost precariously on the edge of a massive waterfall leading into city proper. In the searing light of the midday sun, the towers shone like totems of power, staring down at the city beyond like an ominous gaoler._

_Spyro's gut was writhing in anxiety. The only building – if it could be called one – that matched the size and majesty of the towers he saw before him was the immane figure of the Well of Souls, and such links bought back memories best left buried. Standing at the threshold to the tower's demesne, Spyro found himself hesitant to take the first step, paw held trembling in the air._

"_Is there aught worrying you, youngling?" Terrador's booming voice resounded next to the purple drake, shocking him from his delirium. "You are shaking. Is there an earthquake I cannot feel?"_

_Spyro gazed at the enormous earth dragon, taking comfort from his stalwart presence, and sighed deeply. "I think it's just nerves, Terrador," he explained, attempting to divert the conversation. "I, uh, I'm pretty impressed. By the size, I mean."_

"_For some reason, I doubt that is the reason, Spyro," Terrador replied, spying the purple drake with a knowing eye. "There is something bothering you, something greater than simple shivers. May I help you in this matter?"_

_Memories flooded Spyro's mind of fire and sulphur, a raging wall of flame consuming all before it. He was hurled out of its grasp only to cry in pain. He remembered the last time a Guardian helped him, and its consequences. "No, thank you. I'm fine."_

_Swallowing sharply, his throat lined with thorns, Spyro looked back at the monoliths of the towers. "So, this is where everything happens? All the debating and decision-making?"_

"_Indeed," the earthen drake confirmed. "This is the Warfang Council Citadel. The four towers that gaze over the city are the residence of the Ambassadors, emissaries from the Four Nations who are responsible for the deliberation of their respective country's wishes and intentions. They also house any important councillors, politicians or bureaucrats sent from the four nations that assist the Ambassadors in their duties, as well as serving as minor emissaries for smaller, less significant issues that nevertheless need some variety of presence in Warfang."_

"_In the centre of the four towers lies the senate. The senate is where every political figure congregates during scheduled sessions. It is a large circular…well, arena, ringed with seats. In the centre of the room lie four boxes where the Ambassadors take their places, with a fifth set aside for the purple dragon, if there is one available. In this case, that would be you, hatchling."_

_The word 'arena' did not help to ease Spyro's worries. "And so we're to enter?"_

"_Yes. But fear not, Spyro," Terrador continued, ushering the purple dragon towards the enormous ebony doors of the council chamber. The gold-decorated beasts danced along the blackened wood, encircling the insignias of the four nations like greedy serpents. "You'll simply be introducing yourself to the Ambassadors today. An introduction to the vagaries of the court can be left to another day."_

_And yet, as the gargantuan doors flung open, the single, lone voice speaking impossibly charismatically from the centre of the arena, Spyro knew that Terrador was wrong._

_The arena was enormous, a circular area with five, boxed podiums in a ring around the centre. Exquisitely woven flagpoles hung from the roof, displaying the banners of the four nations with a pride unmatched – Nubila, a forest green, Vitae, the blue of ice, Bellum, sunflower yellow, and Arida, the grandest maroon. A stadium of seats surrounded the podiums, filled with an impossible number of extravagantly-dressed people, all watching the four politicians in the centre podiums with almost deadly intent. The people on the podium stood out from the rest of the gathered, not from their dress or race, but from their mere presence._

_The first that caught Spyro's eye was the colossal, moss-scaled drake that commanded the entire stadium, just barely fitting onto the podium that was decorated with the twirling, forest-green symbol of Nubila. He was built like a stone fortress, muscled limbs and boxy chest betraying his titanic strength. His tail, thick and muscled, was covered in natural armoured plates made of thick, dark green carapace. His wings were scaled to match his size, spreading over the proceedings like a thick, blackish-brown canopy, obscuring the stadium behind him. In stark contrast to the rest of the gathered mien, this drake was bereft of lavish coating, relying on his bulk to confirm his status. His most prominent feature, once one was able to move past his enormous girth, was his dangerous, shovel-like chin, formed of thick, impervious chitin._

_The second Ambassador, to the left of her gargantuan associate, was a smooth-scaled, serpentine dragoness with brilliant, cyan scales. They flashed and glittered as she moved her head back and forth, like scales on a fish, their supple movement a visual metaphor for flowing water. Cementing her piscine breed, flaps of fins dotted her back, jawbones and tail, and even her wings bespoke an aquatic nature, silver and spiked like a set of wide fins. Her head was streamlined, sharpened like a shark's snout, and her piercing eyes, with slitted pupils and grey irises, belied the inner strength barely restrained within her, a determination and resilience that could cow the most stubborn of foes with a simple glare. There was no denying it – this dragoness was an attractive specimen, and knew it well._

_The drake across from her, the slim-bodied and passionate dragon whose charismatic and compelling speech was currently flooding the arena in a haze of power, wore tattered grey scales with smooth, patterned patches of black dotting his back, signifying his age .Horns, straighter than arrows, jutted from the back of his skull, and a line of webbing trailed along his spine down to the tip of his tail. His snout was smooth and refined – handsome, in a word – and his wings were wide and grandiose, larger than life just like his presence. Several gold bands hung from his wrists and neck, embedded with carved gemstones. However, despite his extravagant attire, his strong, earthy brown eyes offset the rest of his body, fierce and composed despite their humble atmosphere._

_And that left the final member, the diminutive, red-furred cheetah who stood in the remaining stand. A thick, exquisitely-decorated tunic covered his chest and abdomen, complemented by a pair of beige breeches that reached his ankles. A long, gnarled, wooden stave was held in his left hand, topped by a perfectly spherical blue orb, carved flawlessly and humming with audible power. His crimson fur was dotted with a sketched black pattern, contrasting against his creamy white underbelly and paws. The tips of his ears, covered in long, fine strands of luscious fur, were tied into braids that hung down his back._

"_Barely a month has passed since hostilities officially ended, and yet already Vitae seeks to claim what is not theirs!" The impassioned, monochrome drake sung, his voice smooth and like a chorus. "What right do you exercise here? I say none!"_

"_Concurrent Skies has never bowed to any sovereignty," the gargantuan earth drake bellowed, spreading his canvas wings and drowning the proceedings in shadow. "For all intents and purposes it remained unclaimed. I see no entanglements that could conceivably prevent Vitae from taking ownership of it."_

"_Seeing as Arida failed to gain what it sought, do you simply wish to prevent others from profiting, Sedula?" The lone dragoness sneered, her expression stoic. "Is profit not all your nation seeks, after all?"_

_The cheetah, smacking his stave on the marble floor with a startlingly loud _clack_, drew the attention of all gathered, his eyes hard. "This is not a time to be expanding our borders, Miss Equatine, and yet, Vitae does so. Your complete and utter disregard for the state and safety of not only your existing borders, but the rest of the Realms in light of our recent misfortune, reflects strongly on the priorities of your country."_

"_Misfortune?" Levis countered. "You understate our plight."_

"_Back to the original issue," the grey-scaled drake, named Sedula, began. "It remains that Vitae's claim towards Concurrent Skies is unjust. Do we all forget who was holed up in her eponymous fortress for near fifteen years?"_

"_You do not truly seek to say that the entire landmass of Concurrent Skies was her demesne, do you?" The earth dragon stared betwixt Levis and Sedula._

"_That is a far-fetched assumption, Sedula," the cheetah agreed._

"_Reed, Garamond, you do not even mention her name," Sedula continued, the sure-fire hints of a smile tugging at his snout. "Is it that you are afraid to confirm it? Cautious that what I say is true?"_

_When no answer was forthcoming, Sedula's sly smile only widened. "Perhaps we should ask someone with greater expertise on this matter than us, someone who has been there and questioned the lady in particular herself…perhaps, Spyro?"_

_Eyes, innumerable pairs of eyes, all locked on Spyro's position near the entrance to the stadium as Sedula gestured in his direction with an outstretched wing, and immediately the purple drake felt incredibly small. Garamond's burning eyes, Reed's cerulean orbs, Levis' ethereal and determined grey irises, and the countless stares of the gathered councillors sitting comfortably in the stadium seats. Spyro felt the earth beneath him tremble slightly as Terrador stiffened; only adding to the severity of his already-quaking legs. Spyro's eyes darted around the arena, looking desperately for someone, anyone to relieve him of his burden, blinking rapidly in his apprehension. Sedula's cock-sure smile never wavered, waiting for Spyro to make a move. The other Ambassadors, expressions emotionless, gazed at him with ruthless expectancy._

"_Um…"_

_And yet, Spyro's saving grace came from the most unexpected place. A high-pitched, beautifully crystalline laugh emanated from the centre podiums, and everyone in the massive amphitheatre took a double-take as Levis chuckled with calculated amusement, drawing attention from Spyro's shocked figure._

"_Well-played, Sedula," she admitted, the last dregs of her false mirth slowly fading away. "But you'll not allow the purple dragon to carry your argument for you."_

"_This is no laughing matter, Equatine."_

"_Enough!"_

_Reed interrupted the bout with another _clack_ from his staff, his lip curled back in a frustrated snarl. He gestured to Spyro with a gentle hand, despite his distance, inviting him to come forward. Spyro obeyed the command, every step made with the caution of one treading on glass, watching his surroundings with a wary eye._

"_If you would be so kind," Reed began, addressing his fellow Ambassadors. "It seems we have an important visitor. If it is convenient for you, I suggest we postpone this discussion to another day, so we may all introduce ourselves properly to our newest purple dragon."_

_All three Ambassadors glanced in Spyro's direction for a brief moment, intensifying the young drake's sense of worry, before nodding in turn._

"_Very well," Garamond muttered, his low rumbling reaching every corner of the room. "The senate is adjourned until further notice."_

_The stadium was immediately filled with the sound of muffled murmuring as the gathered councillors and politicians seated in the stands began to leave, moving into lines as they exited the doors. Several remained to discuss one thing or another, keeping their voices low and hushed, while the four Ambassadors all looked down at Spyro with curious gazes._

"_A pleasure to meet you at last, young hero," Reed began, breaking the tension. "It is truly an honour to meet the saviour of the Realms."_

"_Indeed," Levis agreed curtly, without enthusiasm._

"_Nice to meet you too," Spyro said bluntly, ungracefully. Just as the words left his mouth Spyro mentally berated himself for his lack of class, feeling completely out of his league compared to the status symbols of nobility and culture before him. Levis raised an eyebrow at his comment, hiding her contempt behind a smooth exterior, while Sedula remained impassive. Garamond, however, stalwart in his presence, did little to hide his condescension._

"_And so, once more do we lather our words with honey and bow before a purple-scaled youngling with more bravado than sense," he spat viciously, his enormous girth and deep voice only accentuating his aggression. Spyro backed away several steps, staring at Garamond with fearful eyes. "Did we not learn our lesson thirty years ago? Or shall we treat this Spyro with the same glorifying reverence that we treated Malefor?"_

_Reed and Sedula shot vicious glares at Garamond, and in a heartbeat Terrador was standing next to Spyro, dwarfing the adolescent dragon, and held a protective wing over his back._

"_You speak with such harsh tones, Paraphernalias," Sedula commented, watching his fellow Ambassador with idle interest._

"_I did not bring Spyro here to juggle unfounded accusations about the authenticity of his valour," Terrador near-yelled, his voice hostile. "I brought him to be introduced to you all, as per tradition. Do try to remember that this is a privilege, not a necessity, on the boy's part. I expected better behaviour from the _Ambassadors_, of all people."_

_Garamond blinked, staring at the Guardian with his molten eyes, before chuckling darkly and bending his neck to look at Spyro on an even level. Spyro swallowed harshly, staring at the drake's much-larger head with any courage he could muster. It wasn't much._

"_A _pleasure_ to meet you, Spyro." Garamond's breath was musky, like the scent of decomposing grass and leaves. "I am Ambassador Garamond Paraphernalias, Advisor to Sovereign Alroy and Thane of Loftreach. I look forward to our future endeavours together."_

_When Garamond removed his head from Spyro's personal space, Reed scoffed and shook his head sadly. "I am Reed," he began, his voice calm. "Reed Smoothtongue, Ambassador of Bellum, member of the Bellum Unitied Council and Shaman of the Tanlon tribe."_

"_You may call me Levis del Equatine, Ambassador to Vitae and Magistress of the Equatine bloodline," Levis explained, her voice dull and flat, hiding any mention of emotion._

"_I am Ambassador Sedula Synedrus," Sedula described, lifting his head proudly to show off his elaborate jewellery. "And unlike my _dear friends_, I lack any associated titles."_

_Spyro nodded at each Ambassador in turn, swallowing roughly. "A pleasure to meet you all. I'm…sorry for my crudeness. I'm unfamiliar with how the senate works for now."_

_Garamond snorted, which only made Terrador's expression sharpen in protectiveness. "You will learn in time, Spyro. Do not fear."_

"_In all honesty, the boy has every right to be afraid," Sedula commented._

"_While I am thoroughly enjoying this gathering, I do believe we all have matters to attend to," Levis interrupted, her voice remaining cold. "It was grand to finally meet you Spyro. We all owe you an unrepayable debt of gratitude for your actions against Malefor, and your aid in the conflict. Without you, I doubt any of us would be standing here to greet you." Despite the appreciation of her words, Spyro found he was unable to accept her thanks, in no small part to the iciness of her voice._

"_I, for once, agree with Miss Equatine," Reed concurred. "You were the pinnacle of our hopes, and you more than exceeded expectations. You carried our mission alone, and for that we thank you."_

_Spyro suddenly grew indignant. "I didn't do it alone," he began. Terrador immediately stiffened, the Guardian moving to silence Spyro, but the purple drake was too quick. "I had Cynder's help."_

_It was as though a lightning bolt had struck the proceedings. Reed's fur bristled noticeably, his grip on his gnarled staff tightening considerably. A low, amused rumbling emanated from Garamond, his lower jaw twitching slightly in contained laughter. The row of spines along Levis' back spiked up, exposing the cyan scales concealed beneath them, and she sharply inhaled. Sedula was the only one among the Ambassadors who took the utterance of her name in stride, simply raising an eyebrow in piqued curiosity._

"_Ah, yes, Cynder," he mused. "We'd heard of her…turncoat nature, but had not truly considered it a valid report. It is difficult to put stock in such rumours when they concern one of such controversial nature."_

"Cynder_." Levis spat, for the first time that day showing hints of anything other than control or calculated release. She turned an accusatory eye to Terrador, who gave her no quarter with an equally determined gaze. "We were led to believe she was safely contained in your report, Guardian. What is the meaning of this deception?"_

"_She was contained, in a way," Terrador countered. "She was placed in the security of my most trusted associate."_

"_His words mean he left her in Spyro's care, is that not correct?" Garamond confirmed, his amusement obvious. "I received reports of Malefor's unique little torment – that magical chain he created – from Ignitus, though I suspect he would have preferred not to inform us. Rebellious as always, you Guardians are."_

"_Cynder's trial was postponed due to the circumstances of the war," Reed interrupted, a fiery loathing burning in his pupils. "I take it she has returned with you. Do you seek to hide her from justice, Terrador? What has bought about this change of heart?"_

"_Cynder's crimes are not her own!" Spyro cried, surprising his elders with his indignation. "She was controlled by Malefor! We all know this!"_

"_And thus, whatever crimes she committed are Malefor's doing," Terrador enforced._

"_The population will want someone to blame," Sedula commented. "Malefor is dead, but they are still bitter about the War. Someone needs to take the fall."_

"_No!" Spyro cried. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What justice is there in that?"_

"_There is closure," Levis explained, her voice returning to its frosty nature. "If you believe so strongly in her innocence, what would you have us do, Spyro? After all, the role of the purple dragon has always been one of arbitration. Here is your ultimatum, as dictated by the law – either submit Cynder to our jurisdiction and whatever punishment that entails under Warfang's court of law, or take her place as scapegoat. The choice is yours."_

_All three Ambassadors shifted uncomfortably at Levis' words, in particular Garamond, as though they doubted the move she was to make. It was not clear to the purple drake, but everyone else could see that on this matter, at least, Levis spoke for herself alone. Spyro's eyes widened in shock for but a moment, before he lowered them in determination, his choice made. Terrador scowled, growling audibly._

"_This is foolish," he snarled, speaking before Spyro could utter even a single word. "You seek to impose a choice on the boy before he is even familiar with the way the senate operates! I will not stand by and see you Ambassadors dictate his behaviour on your own terms. Until further notice, Cynder shall remain as a ward of the Order of the Guardians, under my protection and the protection of my fellow Guardians. If you wish to challenge our authority, then so be it, but I am certain Spyro would be more than willing to exercise his own political power. Do not forget that he may release any and all prisoners of the state should he be in need of them."_

"_That right does not extend to war criminals!" Reed countered, but Terrador was unfazed._

"_Cynder has never been a criminal, only a person of significance under scrutiny," he replied. "And with that, I believe our business is done for the day. Come, Spyro. We should leave."_

_As Spyro backed away from the four podiums, following Terrador to the exit, he turned his head to shoot the Ambassadors an intent glare. Levis returned his gaze in kind, remaining as impassive as a glacier. Garamond simply whispered with Reed, somehow keeping his bellowing voice low enough so that Spyro could not hear any more than a low rumble. Sedula, on the other hand, watched Spyro with an inquisitive gaze, no trace of malice visible in his earthen irises._

"_So…this means that Cynder is safe?" The purple drake queried anxiously, still unsure of the language that Terrador and the Ambassadors had been using._

"_For now, yes," Terrador assured, placing a gentle wing over Spyro's back. "Cynder is under our protection, and the Ambassadors would dare not challenge our authority. For as meagre as The Order of the Guardians' presence is in the Warfang senate, it is one that is cherished both by tradition and the populace. Ignoring the safety I offer Cynder is both unimaginable and dangerous, not to mention the power you yourself wield as a purple dragon, and one whom has already saved the world once before."_

"_I can free any prisoners I want to?" Spyro continued, somewhat confused._

"_To an extent, yes. As long as you provide an adequate reason, as deemed by the local court, then you can free any prisoner as long as you are held responsible for any crimes they may commit during their extended freedom. That means that, even if the Ambassadors did deign to ignore my decree, you could still free Cynder with your own justifications, mainly being that she assisted you in defeating Malefor. However, your reach does have logical limits – for example, you cannot free those sentenced to death, nor war criminals. After all, the purple dragon's power does need to have its limits."_

"_I…see," Spyro muttered, his voice faulty. "I suppose I have other powers, no?"_

"_You do, but to explain them now would take far too much time," Terrador confirmed. The two drakes emerged from the council chambers, exiting into the expansive amphitheatre and into the shade of the quad towers. The enormous earth dragon sighed deeply, his exhaustion showing. "I truly, truly wish that you did not need to be subjected to the whims of the Ambassadors," he apologised. "It is not a fate I would wish upon anyone."_

"_It's alright."_

_Terrador shook his head. "Come then. We should find Cynder. She will want to know what happened here."_

- ҉ -

The wind was colder than anything Spyro had ever felt; cutting through his scales like chilled, steel blades. Not even Dante's Freezer had been so unforgivingly extreme. Buffeted by the gale, which was carrying tiny, white icicles of snow from the sky, Spyro leapt from his outcrop of rock into the foliage below, embedding sharpened talons into the icy, tough ground to slow his descent along the slanted earth. With rapid speed, Maven sidled up to his side, an iron shield on her forearm and a twisting flamberge in her other hand. With his right flank covered, the purple drake darted underneath the cover of his former perch and flinched as a white flash of movement leapt onto the ground in front of him, staggering in disorientation as it landed. Spyro pounced forward; claws outstretched, he pulled the creature to the ground as he clawed and bit, ripping flesh and fur alike from his four-legged quarry. The creature was fierce. It fought back with animalistic instinct, striking along the drake's hip, but the creature's own claws weren't sharp enough to pierce dragon scales. Its teeth, however, gleefully tore through Spyro's flesh, tearing a large gash on his shoulder and eliciting a pained cry from the drake, who released his lethal grip and jumped backwards, clutching his bleeding wound with a grimace.

The creature was upon him in a moment, as fast as a demon. Spyro lifted his wings to shield his head, but the white-furred animal yelped in pain as Maven launched herself at its flank, plunging her blade into its vulnerable ribcage. With a war cry, the cheetah, slammed her boot into its chest and pulled the flamberge from its body, tearing the wound wider and leaving it to bleed to death on its own, whimpering pathetically.

"You alright, Spyro?" Maven asked anxiously, pushing his wing away to examine the wound. Her lower jaw was bloodied from a small cut, her fur dampened with red. "Damn, that looks like a nasty bite."

Spyro was about to reply with something along the lines of "I'm fine" when another flash of white appeared behind the cheetah, darting through the trees towards them, and cried "Maven! Behind you!"

The cheetah spun on the spot and smacked the attacker in the snout with her shield, sending it careening into a tree on her right with a loud _crack_. Yet even as it fell to the ground, obviously severely wounded, it nevertheless rose to its feet and growled threateningly at the cheetah, a lip curled back in an animalistic snarl. Maven responded in kind, twirling her crimson-stained flamberge and raising her shield in preparation.

Before either party could make a move, however, Spyro drew a deep breath and exhaled an enormous plume of incandescent flame from his maw, engulfing his opponent in sheets of searing orange. The creature yelped in pain as its flammable fur was ignited, burning its flesh beyond hope of healing, and after several long, painstaking moments of ear-splitting cries of agony it fell to the ground, body mutilated beyond recognition with stray embers still eating away at its flesh and bones.

"I've always hated wolves," Maven muttered, fixing the position of her shield on her arm. "Now, you sure you're ok?"

Spyro nodded in reply, flexing his wounded shoulder to test the pain. A small lance of pain jutted through his arm and he hissed in response, immediately regretting his choice. "A bit of an inconvenience," he jested, a smile on his lips regardless. "But I think I'll be fine."

More snarls emanated from their surroundings, and Spyro and Maven took battle stances as another group of wolves darted out from behind the rocky outcrop, surrounding the two and forcing their backs against the stone overhang. The pack they faced was about seven strong, clearly outnumbering them, but neither the purple drake nor his azure companion backed down. Spyro growled at his attackers, flexing his claws eagerly, and Maven held her shield arm up in preparation for a leap, ready to counterattack with her bloodstained flamberge at the slightest provocation. The wolves made a few small jumps, snapping their jaws voraciously at the two combatants, but retreated with a swiftness that rendered any attempts at counteracting futile.

No one was prepared for the bolt of lightning that lanced from the surrounding foliage, striking the leftmost wolf in the side and sending it into painful spasms as its flesh was seared, innards rapidly frying from the energy. The condensed electricity did not stop there, jumping to another two adjacent wolves and swiftly felling them in the same manner, forming a chain of lightning between them. A thick cloud of black, acrid smoke crawled along the ground towards the remaining animals, imploding within their midst, and all but three managed to backpedal fast enough to avoid being blinded by the sticky, gaseous substance. The jet-scaled, draconic figure of Cynder burst from the cloud and fell upon the nearest beast, tearing flesh and fur with her razor talons and wing blades, a dancing shadow among the blurs of white. Belle launched herself into the fray, paws electrified, followed closely by the forest-scaled, bulwark-shaped figure of Nikolai, clad in silver-grey armour that shone with a dull sheen. Claymore immediately began his work, propelling himself into the centre of the confusion and slamming his forepaws into the frosted, hard ground, sending two other wolves hurtling into the air as the earth exploded beneath them tossing clouds of dirt and ice upwards. Belle took advantage of the opening, throwing herself into the sky with a powerful beat of her wings and clawing at her helpless prey, sending rivets of electricity through their bodies.

Only two wolves remained, staring at the anarchy before them with hesitant eyes and curled lips. Maven wasted no time, sprinting forward with her blade outstretched like a lance. Spyro, not one to be shown up, leapt into the air with a thrust of his wings and channelled his power, sending waves of energy towards his tail where an orb of green force began to form, attached to his body by a thin strip of green. Moments before Maven made contact with her opponent, Spyro somersaulted forward and send the flail arching onward, smacking into the wolf's back with the force of a cannon. It was crushed instantly, its spine bending like a branch before the force of the magic weaponry, nary a snivel before its death. Maven's quarry leapt out of sword reach moments before the blade impacted, but as it attempted a feinted lunge at her right the azure cheetah clocked it in the jaw with her shield and slashed at its exposed side, and blood splattered onto the chilled ground as it ran away, whimpering painfully.

The purple drake landed next to Maven deftly, exchanging a grin filled with bloodlust. He ignored the stabbing pain in his side and rattled his body, shaking off any stray wolf blood that still clung to his scales. "Well, that was fun."

"That it was," Maven returned, chuckling with mirth and shaking her sword clean of crimson. In the distance, beyond the tall, thin trees that dotted the side of the mountain, more blurs of white fur danced, but within moments they had disappeared into the pale white darkness of the icy forest, beyond their sight. "I'd say we've scared 'em off for now. I doubt they'll try hunting in these areas again, considering how many of their number we cut through today. We ought to be clear to land the zeppelins."

Spyro nodded in reply and turned to the other three dragons, who were currently ensuring that their opponents were well and truly dead. Nikolai stood over the bodies of two wolves, one paw on each, grinning broadly at Belle with bloodied teeth bare. The electric dragoness merely chuckled in return, letting the built-up energy in her paws ground itself in the dirt. They shared a quick comment, eliciting a laugh from the black dragoness next to them, before quickly waltzing over to Spyro and Maven.

"That was fairly quick," Nikolai observed, flexing his wings. The membrane, coloured a bright, chameleon green and partially transparent, was shielded from the outside by long, thin plates of steel, all interlocked from the palm of the wings. They hampered flight ability significantly, but protected the vulnerable membrane from damage. "I expected there to be more predators in this area of Vitae."

"You've never even been to Vitae, Nikolai," Belle commented, rolling her eyes. Her leather amour was farm more form-fitting than Claymore's steel armour, with only minor padding around her sides and shoulders. Straps covered her chest and legs, holding the armour to her body. There was no doubt that she was a dedicated spellcaster. "How would you know what the norm is around here?"

"I _do_ read, you know."

"I s'pose that makes you an expert, right Nick?" Maven jabbed, smiling deviously. Nikolai grinned broadly, his expression cocky and certain.

A loud howl broke through their conversation, and all five warriors hunched over and held their weapons at the ready, eyes rapidly scanning their surroundings for signs of their hunters.

"The others must still be dealing with some stragglers," Cynder observed, narrowing her eyes at the area behind the rocky outcrop. "Come on, let's help them."

"Nikolai, Belle, follow me," Maven uttered, bursting into a sprint as the two dragons followed. "We'll circle around the boulder. Spyro, Cynder, you two fly above and see what's happening on the other side. Let me know how many there are."

"Aye aye, ma'am," Spyro confirmed, his voice deadpan and sarcastic. A slight giggle was elicited from Cynder as the two adolescents split off from the group, running up the slanted boulder. They leapt into the air, wings outstretched, and quickly ascended into snow-slathered branches of the pine trees, navigating through the maze of ragged wood and dying leaves. Spyro's eyes narrowed as he observed the battle below him, identifying both his friend and foes.

What appeared to be the rest of the _Wolves_ were currently spread out across the immediate forest, fractured into small groups of three to five members each. Coursing between the trees like floods of whitewash, what remained of the pack of wolves was hastily dashing from prey to prey, attempting to surround their opponents with little success. Each group of warriors moved together in practiced unison, defending their allies from attack and preventing any carnivores from moving too close. Every few moments a wolf would make a fatal mistake – be it leaping forward with teeth bared, ignoring the sword about to cleave its head from its body, or dashing around a swinging polearm only to be felled by a well-placed arrow from an unknown source – and the number of the pack would thin substantially. As it was, Spyro could only see about fourteen or fifteen animals left, and he smiled viciously as he realised the _Wolves_ greatly outnumbered their opponents.

"Maven!" he cried out, watching as the blue cheetah ran towards the nearest group of soldiers with Nikolai and Belle in tow. The purple drake landed on the thick, snow-covered branch of a nearby pine tree, a suitable watchtower for the current battle. "There aren't many left, but they're blindingly fast! Stay together and try to corner them!"

"Right!" was the cheetah's only reply, distracted by a dancing canine that attempting a strike at her side, only to be blocked by her shield.

"Well, are we just going to stay up here and watch the show, or are we actually going to do some exercise?" Cynder asked, taking a seat on a tree opposite to Spyro's. "I'm eager to let more blood before noon."

Spyro grinned at her, a draconic, animalistic grin that betrayed his inner bloodlust, and he nodded in return. "Alright then," he muttered, flexing his claws as arcs of yellow lightning began to dance along his forepaws. "Who should we rescue first?"

Cynder, similarly coating her razor-sharp, silver talons in a thick layer of viscous poison, hissed eagerly and began scouring the ground below for targets. "There," she muttered, gesturing to one of the groups with an outstretched, sickly green claw. "I think Beatrice might need some help. That one-eyed one as well, the cheetah with the bow."

Spyro barely acknowledged her words with a nod before his wings were spread and he was soaring through the air towards Beatrice. The massive, icy blue dragoness was surrounded by a collection of three wolves, each snarling and dancing around the much larger reptile, snapping their jaws like traps at her feet and forcing her to keep moving. The archer next to her, a yellow-furred cheetah with black spots not unlike Hunter's own, held an enormous longbow taller than he was in his hands, nocking an arrow in the direction of the wolves currently hounding his icy companion. Once he was close enough, Spyro folded his wings and began a dive, sending pulses of electricity through his body as he began his descent.

As Spyro was about to clamp his electrified talons on his hapless foe, Cynder rocketed out of the sky, body alight with green poison, and somersaulted into Spyro's target, slamming her envenomed tail blade into the wolf's back. The creature was nearly rent in two, an enormous, bloody red gash opening along its spine and side, and it fell to the ground with a pained cry. The purple drake spread his wings at the last minute to slow his descent, landing only meters away from his now-dead quarry, and shot Cynder an aggravated look as his built-up electricity was grounded.

"That was my kill," he muttered, brows furrowed.

Cynder just laughed and stuck out her tongue. "Too slow."

A roar split the air, and Beatrice's armoured forearm, complemented by a set of razor-sharp spines on the underside of her bracers, sent a wolf flying with dashes of scarlet painting the ground it traversed. The remaining wolf, seeing its companion dead, leapt on the distracted Cynder with its maw open in a vicious snarl. Cynder was sent tumbling to the ground, desperately trying to remove the white demon from her body, but as the wolf was about to plant its jaws around her throat an arrow flew through the air before Spyro's snout and embedded itself in the animal's rump, causing it to cry out in pain. Cynder took advantage of the resulting pause, plunging her wing blades into its ribcage and splintering several bones.

His prey immobilised, Spyro lunged towards the wolf and embedded his teeth in the creature's neck. For several long moments, the taste of blood flooded Spyro's mouth as the wolf flailed and writhed in a vain attempt to escape, before its body fell limp in the throes of death and the purple drake removed his red-stained teeth from its jugular. Cynder likewise pushed the wolf off of her body and spat on the ground, shaking her body roughly.

"Thanks for the save," she stated gratefully. Spyro smiled sheepishly in return.

"Thanks for the kill steal," Beatrice yapped, drawing the two adolescent's attention. "We could've handled that. No need to ruin my fun."

"Yes, you truly didn't need any help whatsoever," the ice dragoness's cheetah companion responded. In contrast to Beatrice's armoured body, the archer wore a thick chainmail vest with a scarf wrapped tightly around his face, a patch covering his left eye. From the looks of the patch – crafted from black leather and intricately decorated with a gold trim – it was not a recent wound, but rather a prideful scar. "You didn't yell out my name moments before asking for me to cover you, certainly not. What slander."

"Shut up, Chase," Beatrice responded curtly. Cynder and Spyro only laughed.

The battle was dying down – only a few wolves remained, with the others rapidly dispersing into the foliage and the stragglers were swiftly killed by the warriors gathered. As Spyro and Cynder idly watched the carnage, breathing heavily in the cold, chilled air of the forest, the cheetah – Chase – strode up to their side and gazed without looking into the air around them, examining the falling snowflakes with curious intent.

"You fight well," Chase mentioned shortly, with a terse, but sincere manner. "I am impressed."

Spyro shrugged, and Cynder simply grinned. "Well, we're both experienced in this sort of thing," she explained. As she spoke, puffs of hot air emanated from her mouth in the cold. "It's kind of our method of operation."

"So I've realised," the gruff voice of Vates resounded from behind. The group turned to see the stout cheetah approaching, his rich red cloak replaced for a thick, brown leather coat with an assortment of iron armour around the torso and shoulders. He held a pair of longswords with a tight grip, the steel of the blades covered in drying blood. "I share Chase's sentiments. You certainly exceed expectations. If you weren't so busy in Warfang, I'd extend an invitation to join us."

Spyro nodded respectfully, and Cynder in turn bowed very slightly. "Thank you," the drake stated. "It's a badge of honour to have the most esteemed mercenary in the Realms call you worthy."

"Hmph, suck-up," Beatrice commented, resting on the ground just behind Vates.

"Is that all?" Cynder asked, watched as the rest of the _Wolves_ began to converge on their location. Maven, sword covered in wet blood, was currently sharing a joke with Nikolai, Belle and Heath. Anareta was trading insults with a crimson-furred cheetah who held an ornate staff in his left hand, shrouded in elaborate, yet still practical robes that hung down to his shins, with an enclosed book held by a clasp hanging from his belt, no doubt a magical tome. A mole with a unique, bladed polearm and clothed in strange, exotic armour made of iron plates connected together by leather straps, was sitting crouched on a jutting rock, examining a daisy he had procured from the icy earth with fondness. "I was expecting more of a fight."

Vates chuckled, sheathing his longswords. "Fear not, Cynder. There'll be plenty more fighting in days to come, I'm sure. We may have cleared this area of wolves and other small nuisances, but I highly doubt it will stay that way. Larger monsters will come hunting, and we'll be there to repel them."

"Do you normally get such basic jobs?" Spyro queried. "This seems somewhat mundane for such a renowned company."

"Well, if we didn't take on the simple jobs then we'd never have been able to get any extravagant duties," Vates explained. "Although, I will admit, this is a bit less prestigious than our standard fare, but when the Order of the Guardians comes to you with an offer, you do not simply refuse them without good reason. The _Wolves_, however renowned, still aren't trusted by much of the Dragon Realms' aristocracy, the same as all mercenaries."

"Ah, aristocracy," Spyro commented drily. "You have to love them."

Vates spied Spyro's wounded shoulder. "Do you want aid with that wound?"

Spyro shook his head. "Nah, I'm good, thank you. It doesn't hurt much."

The heavy rumbling of mechanical engines resonated throughout the forest, shaking the tree branches and vibrating the ground. Spyro looked skyward with an inquisitive gaze, only to see the massive industrial zeppelin fly overhead, beyond the trees and below a clouded sky. Its passage disturbed the sky, sending hordes of tiny snowflakes rushing through the forest. The wind kicked up drifts of snow, and everyone scattered to avoid the rush of ice. Spyro merely lifted a wing to protect his face, shivering visibly from the cold. Cynder did the same, though Spyro knew she would be even colder, by lieu of her slimmer frame.

"Belle, Nikolai, go and tell the Tinkerer and Silvester that we've cleared the immediate area, and the zeppelin can land," Vates barked, keeping his eyes planted firmly on the zeppelin as it drifted into the valley and his two employees leapt into the air. "Kazuto, Heath, Saleh, keep up a perimeter around the area and alert me should any hostile creatures start to stir. Maven, Anareta, stay with Spyro and Cynder. I'm going to scout out the crags to the west and see if I can find a source of water – a river, or a mountain lake. You're pulling the same duty as Heath's group – see any monsters, run it down and tell the others."

And with that, Vates ran off, sprinting through the trees faster than Spyro could ever hope for. Within moments, his brown-robed figure had disappeared between the tree trunks, off into the frosty distance, and Spyro shuddered.

"Just us, h-uh?" Anareta commented from behind. Spyro turned to see her standing next to Maven, the man on her back burning brighter by the second, radiating a sift warmth and melting the snow around her ever so slowly. "And on clean-up duty as well. This is gonna be _fantastic_."

"Usually, I'm the pessimistic one," Maven returned. "We don't need you pulling double duty on that."

"If you two start fighting, I'm just going to leave you in a ditch somewhere you can sort out your differences," Cynder chuckled, inching closer to Anareta's warmth, shivering all the while.

"No, don't do that," Spyro joined. "One of them will end up dead, and Vates will demand compensation. You know we can't afford that."

Anareta noticed how both adolescents edged closer to her, and she smirked visibly. "Hey, you two, do you mind? If you're cold, then I can go grab you some warm clothing from the zeppelin, rather than having you two follow me around like lost puppies for the rest of the day."

"Nah, I think I prefer annoying you," Spyro commented.

Anareta rolled her eyes. "Great. This day just keeps getting better and better."

Maven cast her eyes skyward, watching the upper canopy with interest. Snow had begun to fall with greater intensity, penetrating the defensive grasp of the tree branches and floating down towards the ground in large bursts, assaulting the gathered with shards of ice and snow and waves of chilled wind. She tightened the straps on her leather jacket, beneath her sectional iron plate, and shivered. "Well, we're not going to get any warmer by standing around doing nothing. Come on, let's get moving."

Together, the group of adolescents – with one well into adulthood – began their patrol. The group kept together, moving in a tight formation, staying close to the warm beacon of Anareta, who burned brightly, melting the falling snow before it could reach them. Maven took point, her sword sheathed in comfort, confident in their safety. Spyro and Cynder remained upbeat, sharing jokes and comments with their two companions.

It was a strange experience for Spyro, to feel so unshackled. In Warfang, he would've held himself strongly, carefully watching every step he made so as not to make a fool of himself. His tongue would have been guarded carefully, his speech calculated and smooth. His laughs would have been forced and placed cautiously, wary of avoiding offense with an ill-timed chuckle. His compliments and condolences would have been tailored for his target, intended to incite or comfort. But here, in the middle of the Vitaean tundra, wandering through a forest on the slanted hill of a mountain, he gladly abandoned such reservations, trading them for honest revelry and rich companionship. And it wasn't just his new compatriots that he felt free and unrestricted around – it was a new experience to talk to Cynder here. In Warfang, the ever-clouding presence of her affections was something that he couldn't avoid – it was everywhere, and her very existence was a never-ending reminder of her persisting infatuation. Maybe it was only the heightened level of caution that he exercised in Warfang, but he had to take every step to avoid highlighting the subject, an intensive and complicated task, to be sure. Surrounded by the _White Wolves_, safe in the knowledge that the Ambassadors and the courts of Warfang were hundreds of kilometres away, Spyro found it so much easier to relax and to, for the first time in what felt like years, genuinely enjoy Cynder's presence as more than a frustrating totem to his desire. He could admire her as a person once more, dancing through the snow on her black-plated legs, laughing with a clear, beautiful ringing that was a symphony of serenity to Spyro, training her sharpened wit and good humour.

And he felt connected with his two other companions, Maven and Anareta. Among the members of the _Wolves_ he had been exposed to during the month-long trip to the Vitaean tundra, Maven and Anareta were the two he, and by extension, Cynder, had grown closest to. Perhaps it was their jovial attitudes, ignorant to his status and judging him rather on the extent of his wit, rather than his manners. Or maybe it was Maven's lack of respect for Spyro's previous service to the Realms, refusing to acknowledge his skill until she was bested in a sparring round – they had yet to test their mettle against one another. Or, perhaps, it was Anareta's fiery aura – figuratively, mind you – that imbued all around her with a sense of purpose, a wellspring of motivation. Anareta's similar age helped considerably, as did her relatively innocuous past, in juxtaposition to Spyro and Cynder's stories, fraught with peril, adventure and drama as they were.

"This is boring," Anareta chimed, interrupting Spyro's thoughts with expert timing. "Vates can't honestly think we'll find anything out here, can he? What could we find out here that's worse than wolves?"

Maven simply shrugged nonchalantly. "Not sure, but if the boss wants us on patrol, then we're on patrol. You know how things work, Anareta."

Spyro and Cynder exchanged wary glances, not at all comforted by Anareta's words.

"Hey, Ana?" Cynder spoke, earning an idle head-twist from the fire dragon. "If you'll take advice from a war hero, try not to say things like that. Fate tends to deal you a band hand whenever you taunt it."

"I agree with Cynder," Spyro added, shifting his wings slightly in discomfort, though whether it was from the cold or from Anareta's words, he did not know. "Sparx has a nasty habit of making quips like that, and I'm usually the one who has to defend his sorry, sparkly little butt whenever an ape jumps out from a hiding place and attacks, _just_ to disprove what he just said."

Anareta raised an eyebrow, before chuckling. "Alright then, if you say so, mister and missus war hero."

Spyro and Cynder froze slightly at her words, barely noticeable, but enough to be registered by Maven's keen eye.

"Speakin' of Sparx, where is the little gnat?" The cheetah began, tactfully continuing the conversation. "I saw him before we jumped down, and I thought he would accompany you, purple one."

Spyro shook his head in a mixture of sadness and relief. "Dear ancestors, no. Sparx hates the cold, being an insect and all. He could barely stand Dante's Freezer, five years ago, so he's in no hurry to re-acquaint himself with the Vitaean climate. The presence of giant, bloodthirsty wolves doesn't help sweeten the deal at all either."

"Seems like a bit of a coward to me," Anareta commented.

"Well, you can't deny that he doesn't like conflict," Cynder agreed, shrugging visibly. "He hasn't deserted us once. The only time he willingly left our side was when we went into the Belt of Fire, and to be fair, he wouldn't have lasted a minute there, and it wasn't of his own choosing. He would've stuck with Spyro the whole time, if he had have gotten his way."

"I wasn't about to let my brother get incinerated," Spyro assured. "As annoying as he is, he's still my brother."

"You hold family closer to yourself than many in the Realms these days," Maven commented grimly, but said no more. Spyro looked at her inquisitively, expecting her to elaborate, but when her silence persisted he dropped the subject, and a calm quiet spread over the group.

Maven's words had left a grim air, and in the silence, awkwardness bred with alarming rapidity. The cheetah stared forwards, watching their surroundings with a cautious eye, flamberge hung at her hip and shield firmly attached to her right arm. Anareta kept to the front of her group, mane burning ferociously, lending the ambience a dull, satisfying crackling noise. Spyro and Cynder remained behind the two _Wolves_, flanking both of them while remaining distant.

"No, no, this won't do at all," Anareta complained, frowning visibly. "We've stopped talking, and now we're in that stage where all we can do is look around awkwardly and hope for someone to break the silence. I won't have it."

Maven chuckled. "So, what would you have us do, Ana?"

Anareta's head swivelled around to face Spyro and Cynder, who only gave her quizzical glances in return. A smile painted her marked face, exposing her overgrown fang. "A race!"

The suggestion caught everyone unawares. Maven halted for a moment, and Spyro and Cynder in turn skidded to a stop behind her, throwing accusatory gazes at the fire dragoness.

"A race?" Cynder parroted. "A race to _where_, exactly?"

Anareta's only response was an unsure shrug, before she sprinted off into the distance, laughing mischievously with her blazing mane trailing behind her. Spyro and Cynder exchanged glances once more, this time sharing them with the equally-flabbergasted figure of Maven, before shrugging in unison and chasing after the dragoness, followed shortly by the mercenary.

Anareta had the lead, thanks to her unexpected head-start. She ran off into the distance, disappearing between the trees, laughing all the while. Spyro darted through the blackish-brown trunks of the pines, following the warm glow emanating from Anareta's mane, an enthusiastic grin painting his face. Without warning, the jet figure of Cynder darted past him, leaping over a rock and soaring over her purple compatriot, flashing him a sly smirk as he gazed at her in shock. Not to be bested, the purple drake put on a burst of speed, racing ahead and keeping in line with Cynder, trailing just behind Anareta and competing for second place.

"Keep up, Spyro!" Cynder shouted.

"Same to you," Spyro countered.

To the shock of both adolescents, Maven raced past them with shocking speed, disappearing into the brush and, with incredible swiftness, overtook Anareta – but not before giving her a mock salute and laughing as she rocketed in front. Anareta spat a curse at the cheetah, skidding slightly to slow herself down, only to curse her foolishness when Spyro and Cynder overtook her as well, leaving her behind in a snowdrift.

"Blast it," she muttered, racing forward, trailing behind Spyro's tail, close enough to take a nip at it with her teeth. "Maven's cheating again."

"No, you're just slow," Spyro taunted, turning and sticking out his tongue at Anareta, much to the dragoness' chagrin, who spat another profanity at the purple dragon.

Without warning, Cynder swerved to the right, running into Spyro's side with the force of a golem. Unprepared for the sudden impact, and shocked by the pain that his wound gave him, Spyro lurched to the side and fell face-first in a snowdrift. His mouth filled with ice, sending chilled shivers down his reptilian length and, vaguely, he could hear the distant laughter of Anareta as she ran off into the distance, following Maven further into the forest.

Spyro, with great effort, pulled his face out of the snowdrift and shook his body vigorously, shivering visibly from the sudden wave of cold. He held his wings close to his body in a vain attempt to stave off the cold, breathing small jets of fire to warm himself. _Ah, damnit,_ he cursed inwardly, gritting his teeth. _Now I'm going to be shivering for the rest of the day._

"You ok, Spyro?" Cynder queried, an anxious look on her face. Contrary to what the others had done, she had stayed behind. The dragoness strode up to Spyro's side and placed a gentle wing around him, moving her body closer to his to share her warmth.

The close contact took the purple drake by surprise, but cloaked in his frozen scales, he welcomed the contact rather than refused it. He lifted a wing and held it around Cynder's body on turn, pulling her deeper into the embrace, still shivering.

"Yeah, I'm ok," he confirmed, his shivers beginning to disappear. He raised an eyebrow at Cynder. "What was that for?"

Cynder shrugged self-consciously, looking away. "I thought you'd see me coming, and move. I didn't expect to trip you, and I kind of forgot about your wound."

"Well, thanks."

Maven and Anareta's laughter disappeared into the distance, growing fainter and fainter with each passing moment. And with each passing moment, Spyro and Cynder prolonged their embrace, neither party desiring a cease in contact. Spyro's wing remained draped over Cynder's back, keeping her close to his chest. Likewise, Cynder contentedly rested her body against the drake's chest; claws held up against his arms gently, wings held closely against her back. The soft caress of her breath against Spyro's scales was gentle and comforting, and her talons were electric as they scraped along his arms, held tightly around her elegant frame. For the first time in days, Spyro felt that familiar heat blossom in his chest, coursing throughout his body, and a shard of guilt embedded itself in his chest as he was reminded of his reasoning.

And yet, in the Vitaean forest, surrounding by a cascade of falling snow, shielded from the sky above by a thick canopy of branches and frosted leaves and with their companions having abandoned him, Cynder was in no hurry to break the contact. She rested her head on Spyro's belly plates, and her eyes were closed in comfort, her breathing measured and calm. Unlike what Spyro had expected, her body was relaxed and lacking tension, in sharp contrast to when they usually shared contact – indeed, Spyro found himself dealing with the situation far more calmly than he had expected himself to. Rather than panicking about how to extricate himself, he simply exhaled deeply, slowly, and tightened the grip his wings had on her body, enjoying the warmth her body offered him.

However, when Cynder stirred, opening her eyes and staring into Spyro's own with a questioning, if solemn expression, warning bells began to ring in his mind.

"Spyro," she began, biting her lower lip. She fidgeted slightly, her tail swaying uncomfortably behind her, and her grip on Spyro's arms tightened involuntarily. "Um…"

Whether by the grace of the ancestors, or random chance, a loud, low, slithering noise began resonating throughout the forest, interrupting whatever Cynder was about to say. Spyro took advantage of the sudden sound, parting himself from Cynder's embrace, perhaps a slight too roughly, and rapidly scanned his surroundings, much to the dragoness' confusion.

"What was that?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "Did you hear it?"

Disorientated by both the rumble and Spyro's rapid withdrawal, Cynder took a moment to compose herself. "Uh…yeah I heard it, but I don't know where it came from."

Spyro watched his surroundings with a keen eye, examining the maze of trees for any sign of movement. There were no signs of life, only snow falling to the frosted, hard ground. The only sound that remained was the low, howling noise of the chilled wind, passing through the spires of wood like currents of water, carrying with it icicles of snow.

Suddenly, the slithering sound once again resonated throughout the forest, the ground shaking under its power. Spyro saw a shift in the snow – a line, like a vein, moving through the layer of snow – and he immediately adopted a battle stance, legs spread, rear raised, wings wide. The _thing_, whatever it was, slithered past him with phenomenal speed, shifting throwing snow everywhere as it attempted to escape. The purple drake lifted a wing to shield himself from the ice, and he thought he heard a startled cry from Cynder.

"What in the ancestors' name was that?" Cynder queried in shock, leaping back several feet as the creature disappeared downhill.

"I don't know, but I'm following it," Spyro answered, breaking into a sprint. With a resigned sigh, Cynder followed him, her superior speed enabling her to keep pace with him as he ran through the forest.

The creature was faster than Spyro expected. No matter where it went, it stayed in the snow, concealing its figure from Spyro's view. The only sign of its movement was the trails it left in the ice, lumps like veins forming a path in the forest. The purple drake kept his distance, watching from afar as he tried to ascertain its destination. Whatever this creature was, Spyro wanted to keep an eye on it – if it was dangerous, it needed to be taken care of before the airship landed.

The forest was beginning to thin. The trees were becoming sparser, and as Spyro and Cynder followed the creature downhill the ground began to level out. Risking a glance above, Spyro could see the overcast, white sky above him, blanketed by a sheet of falling ice and cloud. Following the creature, eventually the two adolescents came to an open clearing, covered in a thick sheet of snow that made movement difficult, as though one was walking through knee-high water. A river ran along the edge of the clearing, beyond which laid an expansive, seemingly never-ending tundra, decorated with sparse pots of frozen water and clumps of grass. Spyro and Cynder slogged through the thick snowdrift, pushing forward and following the trail of snow that the creature left behind, but faltered when the vein-like bump in the ice simply stopped, and the low, slithering rumble came to a halt.

"What the-"

Without warning, the snow surrounding the creature was thrown into the air, abandoned like a disused shroud. Through the glittering ice, falling like hail from the sky, a thick, trunk-like neck reared upwards, coiling and twisting in ways that seemed unnatural, thick, plated scales of creamy white and silver trailing its body like splintmail made of tin. A thin, forked, crimson tongue flickered in and out of the creature's mouth, tasting and teasing the air like some sort of devil, opening its gaping maw and exposing its fanged jaws, a deep, lethal hissing emanating from its pink and red throat. Two fangs, curved like sabres and sharp as spears, shot down from the upper jaw, flexing and moving as though they had a will of their own. The serpent was massive, its neck thicker than the trees surrounding them, belly scales a light beige against the white of its back, its reptilian, black eyes staring at the two adolescents with animalistic intent.

The serpent leapt forward, maw wide, and snapped loudly at Cynder. With reflexes faster than Spyro had ever given her credit, Cynder leapt to the side moments before the snake's jaw clamped shut, sending snow flying once more. The beast wasted no time, feinting another strike at Cynder, who dodged once again, this time by a hair's breadth.

"Cynder!" Spyro cried out in fear, leaping onto the serpent's neck, clinging to its plated scales with his talons. He tried to bite the snake, but its armoured scales reflected any attempt at piercing the skin. Distracted by his presence, the snake turned its head and faced Spyro head on, flicking its tongue in and out of its mouth, hissing deeply. The angle seemed impossible from Spyro's perspective, and in fright he let go of the serpent's neck as it snapped at him, missing its own flesh by a miracle.

"Spyro! Circle it!" Cynder cried, latching onto the snake's neck, near the base of its head. Immediately the serpent began to lash about, flicking its head like a whip in an attempt to remove Cynder's jet black figure. "I'll distract it!"

Heeding her orders, Spyro ran underneath the snake's head, halting for a moment. He quickly scanned his opponent – the serpent's body was still buried underneath the snow, only a fraction of what Spyro hypothesised was the rest of its gargantuan length surfacing to attack. The neck of the creature rapidly thinned as it reached its head, leaving a single weak spot at the base of its skull, where Cynder was currently latched onto. As the snake was flinging its head however, Cynder could barely maintain her grip, let alone strike at it.

"Get ready Cynder!" Spyro cried, forming a blade of ice along the edge of his tail. Similar pieces of ice coated his paws, the energy swirling around his forearms in preparation. He broke into a sprint, leaping into the air and performing a somersault, slamming the icicle blade into the snake's lower back. The blade shattered against the armour white scales, but shards of ice embedded themselves in its skin nonetheless, and the serpent cried out in pain, its head stiffening for a moment as it roared.

"Strike! Now!" Spyro called out.

Cynder wasted no time, a glob of poison forming in her throat. She tore the thin scales along the base of its skull apart with her talons, thick, ragged tears forming along its neck, before expelling the bolt of venom violently into the reptile's wound. With another agony-induced cry, the snake flung its head backwards harshly, sending the dragoness hurtling into a snowdrift along the river shore, bouncing once before landing in the shallow edges of the frigid water. Spyro ignored the writhing creature as he ran to Cynder's side, pulling her from the icy liquid and back onto land.

"Are you alright?" He asked worriedly, examining her for injuries. When he found none bar a few broken scales, he sighed in relief.

"I'm fine," Cynder confirmed, shaking herself of water roughly. "Did that do it?"

The snake slowly stopped its flailing as the dregs of poison finally made their way into its bloodstream. It arched its neck, mouth agape, and its muscles flexed for a moment, pulsing and writhing beneath its skin. With expressions rung with horror, the two adolescent dragons watched as, with apparent pain, the reptile squeezed Cynder's poison, running in rivers down its back and onto the floes of ice, out of its body. The green, viscous liquid hissed and spat as it touched the ice, melting it much like molten rock, only a sickly green. Its black, slitted eyes turned to stare at the dragons, hissing loudly in feral rage and exposing its fangs like sabres, dripping with its own murky green, mucus-like venom. Then, with another hiss and a shake of its neck, three patches of snow around the clearing rose spontaneously off the ground, falling from scaled necks like dirt. Three more long, thick, dangerous heads, all covered in creamy white, plated scales, rose and coiled around the original, mouths filled with razor fangs hissing and spitting at the two adolescents with rage. Four serpents, one tail, one beast, staring at Spyro and Cynder with dangerous intent.

"Dear ancestors," Spyro whispered in fear.

Two heads launched themselves at each adolescent, and with barely inches separated them form instant deaths the two dragons split up, rolling away from their opponent. The two remaining heads opened their jaws as if to strike, only to shoot jets of sizzling liquid at Spyro and Cynder, who dodged the spray with acrobatics and shielded themselves with an orb of rock respectively. As Spyro banished the earthen bulwark, he noticed the stone sizzling the melting where the venom had struck, and visibly blanched.

"Cynder! The venom is acidic! Watch out!"

"Got it!"

Cynder collapsed upon herself, holding her wings close and coiling her tail around her body, before lifting her head high and letting loose a wailing scream. Red pulses of fear, riding the waves of sound, collapsed upon the multi-headed demon, and for a moment all four heads coiled in shock from the resonations. But the relief was only for a moment, as the creature's armoured tail struck out at Cynder with phenomenal speed, ignoring her piercing shriek, and Spyro was just barely fast enough to tackle her out of the way of its reach.

Cynder panted as she stood up, watching the serpent with fearful caution. "That barely did anything…" she muttered.

"It must have poor hearing," Spyro observed. He summoned his fire magic, allowing the blooming flame to spread throughout his body in preparation for use. "We might have to try something more offensive. Ready your wind element, I've got an idea."

Cynder's eyes flashed in understanding. "Alright."

As another head struck at where they had just been standing, Cynder leapt into the air and spread her wings, hovering precariously out of the range of the striking heads. One took several snaps at her, jaws clamping around thin air, but the rest put her aside with calculating intelligence and began to surround Spyro, who was sprinting towards the creature. One cut him off from Cynder, surrounding his left flank, while the other two opened their mouths and prepared their venom spit. Spyro dodged both streams, smiling in satisfaction as they both struck the other head, inciting a scream of pain from the snake, and let loose a plume of flame from his maw.

The fire swarmed the snake's underbelly, searing the soft, vulnerable scales and eliciting an agonised hiss from one of the heads. Cynder wasted no time, folding her wings and diving towards the right-most head. She began spinning, a whirlwind forming around her, and as she swooped down next to Spyro her gust of air caught on Spyro's flame, and in an instant she was surrounded by a cyclonic cascade of incandescent heat. Spyro ducked beneath the thick body of the serpent, lifting a wing to shield himself from the burning flames as the serpent's flesh was seared by Cynder's assault. White scales turned black, and the flickering tongues of fire caught the serpent's toughened scales and began dancing along them, its skin oil. Immediately, the four-headed demon began to flail about, slamming its multiple necks into the frigid snow, trying desperately to extinguish the fire.

_It's scales are flammable,_ Spyro thought, launching himself into the air with a powerful beat of his wings. Cynder was on the ground, darting between the creature's flailing heads with a demonic speed. _A weakness!_

One of the heads managed to extinguish the flames that licked at it, rolling in the snow, and reared upwards towards Spyro, maw bared. Spyro barrelled to the side, coating his body in fire, and landed harshly against its back and reigniting it. The head reared, in pain, but did not cease its assault, leaping forward and catching Spyro by surprise. The purple drake snarled in pain as the powerful jaws of the serpent clamped around his tail and was sent hurtling into the ground with a flick of the snake's head.

Spyro hissed in pain, clutching his bleeding tail. The snow around him was covered in red splotches, crimson dots, and with a struggle he pulled himself to his feet, watching as Cynder leapt in front of him protectively. The serpent lunged for her, two heads surrounding her as the last one still struggled to extinguish itself, and out of desperation the black-scaled dragoness tackled Spyro out of its path and into a snowdrift.

"Are you alright?" She snarled, her body low to the ground. "Are you hurt?"

"Ngh…It bit me along the tail," Spyro replied, gesturing to the deep puncture wounds along the side and back of his length. At Cynder's worried expression, he was quick to add "It's ok. The venomous fangs didn't get me…I think."

The serpent was not done. At the loud hiss of one of its heads, Cynder ducked lower, trying to avoid its gaze. She pulled Spyro over behind a small clump of grass, burying the two of them in the thick snow. Spyro began shivering, the white powder cold to the touch, his scales only exacerbating the feeling.

"What now?" Cynder whispered urgently.

Spyro swallowed harshly, watching as the serpent began to examine its surroundings, looking for the two adolescents. The heads had separated, each searching a different area, its forked tongues flicking in and out, tasting the air and looking for their scent.

"Maybe we should go get some backup," Spyro suggested. "We can't fight it alone, it's too powerful."

"Good idea."

And yet, the moment the two adolescents moved from hiding, abandoning their veil of snow and grass, the middle-left head twisted sharply and hissed, alerting its brethren, and shot a stream of acid in their direction. Spyro summoned an earthen shield, pulling stone up through the snow to protect the two of them. Partially hidden by a bulwark of rock, and concealed behind the raging snowstorm, the serpent's tail, like an advancing wall of white, slammed into the fragile shield and sent its two occupants hurtling through the air. Spyro impacted against the side of a tree, winding him, and when he fell to the ground and opened his eyes he saw Cynder lying limply against a stone near the riverbed, eyes closed. Another head, the one with the wounded back, opened its mouth wide and flexed it fangs, rearing its head in preparation to strike.

Suddenly, a great incandescent tongue of flame burst from the veil of trees, a writhing spear of heat and energy lancing out across the clearing. The fire struck the rearing head, immolating it violently and sending it writhing to the ground. The other three heads turned in confusion to face their new foe, only for another of them to be struck by a bolt of flame, igniting its underbelly and making it flinch. A blue-furred cheetah – Maven, sword raised – leapt upon one of the remaining two heads, climbing its thick length faster than the serpent could react. She sliced at the vulnerable neck behind its head, opening a large gash at the back of its neck, and leapt off before the flailing of the serpent threw her off, landing nearby and shielding herself as sparks and cinders from the fire rained upon her.

Anareta burst from the cover of the trees, mane burning in a luminous light, her limbs trailing tongues of fire as she stormed towards the serpent. Two of the heads immediately snapped at her with demonic speed, but Anareta was nimble and fast, like a spark of flame. She skidded to a stop near the edge of the river and roared, a great orb of writhing flames forming around her body. The snow in a circular radius around her melted with shocking speed, and as the snake made another lunge at her with one of it heads it recoiled in pain as its tender jaws were seared, smoke emanating from its mouth and flickers of fire licking at its head.

Anareta was a dead ringer for a raging firestorm. With perfect coordination she summoned another plume of flame, manipulating it like a string of silk and sending it careening into the serpent's body. The explosion rocked the clearing, illuminating the area with a bright orange glow, and only moments passed before another wisp of flame erupted along its side. No matter what the serpent did, striking at the red dragoness with open maw, whipping her with its plated tail, or spitting jets of acid like arcing oil, it couldn't touch her. She sprinted around it, dodging jets of acid and warding the writhing head from her companions with her orb of flame, face formed into a determined snarl.

"Spyro!" She cried, slapping away a hissing head with a whipping flare. She blocked the creature's path towards the two fallen dragons, spreading a wall of fire along the clearing. Snow and ice evaporated before her, rapidly exposing the frigid, tough ground. "Get Cynder somewhere safe! Maven and I will handle this!"

Spyro nodded without a word, rushing to the dragoness' side, and gently lifted her up from the ground, placing a wing over his back. As Maven and Anareta kept the beast busy, he slowly dragged her limp form over to the safety of the trees. A jet of poison struck the ebon trunk next to Cynder, and he lifted a wing to shield her body before pulling her deeper into the folds of the forest, just close enough to the clearing that he could still observe the battle.

_No, no,_ he thought.

"Cynder, wake up," he whispered, shaking Cynder's slight frame cautiously. "Are you ok?"

The dragoness was silent for a moment, before a pined grunt escaped her jaws and Spyro sighed in visible relief.

"Cynder, are you ok?"

Cynder's eyes flickered open slowly, upper lip curled backwards in a grimace of pain. She tried to prop herself up with a paw, but collapsed back into the welcome embrace of the ground, groaning. "Yeah…I'm ok. I think. My back hurts." She clutched her hip, clenching her teeth.

"Well, after the beating you took, you're lucky the only thing you have to show for it is a sore back," Spyro chuckled, cradling her body. "Anareta and Maven are dealing with that _thing_ back there."

"Excellent…timing," Cynder grunted. To Spyro's surprise, she pushed him away, leaning against a tree trunk and coiling up, tail curled protectively around her stomach. She gestured to the clearing with her head. "Do you think they can handle it?"

Spyro turned and observed, watching Anareta throw fireballs at the serpent, keeping its multiple heads at bay. Maven leapt upon the creature, clambering over its body and slicing at its armoured scales, searching for a weakness. The serpent spun its tail at Anareta, who simply leapt over the gargantuan, scaled appendage, striking it with a burst of fire as it passed. By now the entire serpent was engulfed in flame, desperately trying to extinguish its burning scales, now more black than white.

"I think they'll be fine."

Maven jumped up onto the serpent's wounded neck, climbing it with a dexterity that seemed unnatural, clinging to the head as it whipped and struck around the clearing, trying with all its might to remove the cheetah from its body. With a roar and a swing, Maven plunged her flamberge into the snake's jagged scar, still bleeding from Cynder's earlier onslaught, and wrenched it sharply to the side. The flesh, hide and muscle keeping the head attached to the neck was rent with voracity, and a shower of blood burst forth from the severed neck, spraying the snow below with scarlet paint. The head, now limp and unmoving, hanging from the neck by a thin stand of stringy muscle and dripping blood. The remaining three heads roared in ferocity, opening their mouths wide, ready to strike, but Maven loosened her grip on the beast's scales, falling to the ground and covering her head with her shield.

"Anareta!" She cried urgently. "Cauterize the stump! Quickly!"

Anareta opened her maw and unleashed an immense conflagration, sweeping over the severed neck and setting the entire trunk aflame. The head, hanging from the ruined neck, was torn from its weak support, and sent flying over the clearing and into the river, where it landed with a massive _thud_ and a huge splash, scattering crimson droplets of serpent blood throughout the snow-covered clearing. The rest of the beast coiled in pain, roaring loudly, and slithered away from its foes, the three remaining heads ignorant of the limp stump that was the severed neck.

"Perfect!" Maven shouted.

_Whoa,_ Spyro thought, watching their victory with interest.

Anareta and Maven began to laugh uproariously as the beast slithered away, across the river and into the forest, disappearing into its darkness with wounded pride. Maven sheathed her reddened flamberge and shared a victorious war cry with Anareta, grinning broadly in triumph. Anareta banished the swirling flames that shielded her, the orange orb retreating into her mane, her smile seemingly brightening the entire clearing by its own, lonesome, fierce self.

It would be a lie to say that Spyro was not impressed, most particularly by Anareta. Maven had done an admirable job, raging like a lion around her serpentine prey, but it was the red dragoness that had stolen the show, a fluttering ribbon of red silk dancing around the demonic beast. Spyro's eyes had been stuck on Anareta the entire battle, watching her with piqued interest, and even now, covered in dried blood and smiling both viciously and with enthusiasm, the purple dragon couldn't take his eyes off of her, fierce and proud and bold.

_And if not for her,_ Spyro thought dimly, his lips forming a grimace for a split second. _Cynder would be dead._

Anareta turned towards Spyro, her smile never fading, and for a single moment Spyro flinched in surprise, taken aback by the rich, crystalline aesthetic of her emerald eyes. The dragoness tilted her head, gesturing for the purple drake to join her, and Spyro smiled in return, turning to Cynder expectantly. "You think you can walk?"

Cynder was morose, staring at Anareta with unreadable eyes. "I could use some help."

Supporting her body with his shoulder, Spyro slowly dragged Cynder out of the forest and into the clearing, immediately assaulted by a gust of chilled wind. Anareta and Maven approached, however, warming the two adolescent's bodies with the red dragoness' persistent heat.

Maven spied Cynder's limp form and a worried expression graced her features. "You ok, Cynder?"

"I'll be fine," Cynder replied, managing a smile. "The healers will take care of me. Besides, I've been through worse."

"It was a tough fight," Spyro commented, removing his support of Cynder at her insistence. "What was that thing? A multi-headed snake?"

"A white hydra, to be precise," Maven corrected, rubbing a splotch of dried blood from the rim of her shield. "Although, to be quite honest, I'm not sure what a hydra is doing awake in the heart of winter. They might be warm-blooded, but it'd be difficult for it to feed with its prey hibernating. Something must have woken it up."

"Well, whatever happened, they've given us a fight to look forward to," Anareta noted, her grin broadening in anticipation. "That head will grow back after a few hours, now that it's been cauterized. We'll have to track it down once the camp has been set up, and kill it before it becomes a problem."

"Great, it can re-grow limbs. That's just perfect," Spyro frowned for a moment, facing Anareta. "By the way, thanks for the save back there. We would've been done for had you two not shown. You have perfect timing."

Maven shrugged. "No prob. Couldn't let the celebrities die, could we? That'd be some pretty awful PR for the _Wolves._"

"You're terrible bodyguards," Cynder joked drily, ignoring the pain in her back. "Screw up like that again, and we'll convince the Guardians to void your contract."

"Like you could do that," Anareta countered, chuckling.

The rumble of the zeppelin in the distance interrupted their conversation, and they all faced the grey sky as the lumbering beast emerged from behind a mountain, followed by the smaller bulk of the _Wolves'_ interceptor. Maven cleared her throat, gesturing to the airships.

"Well, the longer we leave Cynder's wound, the worse it's going to get," she informed matter-of-factly. "We've got a healer, and I'm sure your Guardian friends bought their own healers, so don't worry about being bogged down by an ache in your lower back for the next week, Cynder."

"I'm _so_ looking forward to having stuffy, bland dragons fuss over me for the next several hours," Cynder replied, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. She grimaced visibly, and Spyro couldn't help but chuckle.

"Let's not waste time then," he stated, spreading his wings. "You'll be fine down here, Maven? We can't exactly carry you up there."

Maven waved away his worries. "I'll go and find Heath. You three have fun."

As the three adolescents leapt into the air, wings beating with a rhythmic progression, Maven watched them disappear into the distance, toward the bloated figures of the two zeppelins, slowly traversing the grey canvas of the sky. The snow was still falling, a cascade of white flecks rushing from the heavens, surrounding the armoured girl in a storm of silver. She grinned in reminiscence.

"Ah, Gabriel," she muttered to herself. "You certainly make peculiar friends."

With that final comment, the cheetah ran off into the forest, dodging trees and stones and falling snow.

- ҉ -

Silence.

A doe wandered through the icy forest. It was no ordinary doe – it was bulky, fattened, covered in a warm coat of three-inch-thick fur. It's thin, delicate legs did not belong on such a large creature, as though they had been cut from another and attached to this. It sniffed at the ground, searching through the thin layer of snow for roots and grass that lay concealed beneath the layer of ice. Fragments of snow pierced the pine tree canopy, falling around the doe like slow, white rain.

Patience.

The herbivore was oblivious. It was prey – its entire life was dangerous. Its beady, black eyes wandered around the forest, searching for veiled threats, but it could not see the hunter concealed in the shadows, hidden by a blanket of darkness. It continued searching for its frigid meal, barely enough to sustain it for a few hours more, continually balancing exertion with consumption, lest it fall to the ground, dead of starvation. It was a precarious scale, tilted in nature's merciless favour, a game that all that lives must play.

Perseverance.

The doe did not know, but it was already dead. The moment its pursuer had found it, the moment he saw its bulky form wandering aimlessly through his hunting grounds, the doe lost its meaningless future. Irres was an unforgiving predator, talons spread, wings hunched, eyes narrowed, legs bent. The tension was like a bowstring, waiting for a single movement to spell a crazed fervour, a lethal rush.

_Death._

"Can you _believe_ what they're saying the _Wolves_ found hiding near the camp?"

In shock, Irres' markings burnt brightly, flashing in an orange light, illuminating his hidden, shrouded refuge beneath the gnarled root of a tree. The doe's eyes, black and feral, saw the threat and it bolted, running off into the forest with mad panic. Irres started, leaping from his hiding place, but his prey was already gone, vanished into the woods, and he snarled.

_Blast it,_ he thought.

"A hydra, right? What the hell is a hydra doing near the tundra?"

Irres flinched, looking around anxiously for the source of the voice. _Others,_ was his immediate thought. _This is unfortunate._

Panic.

Irres leapt back into his hiding place, vanishing into the darkness once more, becoming one with the shadows. Footsteps emanated from beyond his tree, the tell-tale crunch of ice and dried leaves and dirt beneath a booted foot. Their frequency told the shadow dragon that there were multiple foes, travelling in a group. Hushed laughter echoed through the forest. Their voices were male, perhaps one female.

"I always thought hydras were just the stuff of kids tales. I'd heard stories of some being found underground, and in some Nubilan marshes, but I never thought we'd actually find one."

The voices were accompanied by a slight flanging in their tone, a purring. There was a cheetah among them, or several. A low, animalistic growl disproved that theory, as a draconic, reptilian voice spat a joke, receiving a multitude of ringing laughs for his efforts. Irres' markings flickered in fear, illuminating his body, and in desperation the shadow dragon closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm. He took several deep breaths, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. His heart beat began to slow, his weak limbs grew some semblance of strength, his twitching tail stilled and motionless, and his flickering orange markings began to die, reverting to their dull, ill maroon.

Serenity.

The group turned a corner, and entered Irres' eyesight. Abandoning his fear, Irres identified their members – two cheetahs, one red female and one olive male, flanking a larger, bulkier male drake, electric yellow scaled. All were clothed in rough cloth garments and broken leather boots, with leather sleeves with fur padding for the dragon. They were not soldiers – that was certain.

"Hah, you truly are a sheltered kind," the drake sneered, jabbing the olive cheetah in the side. While it would've only been a friendly bruise to a dragon, the much smaller cheetah stumbled sideways at the impact. "Hydras are surprisingly common in Nubilan marshlands. It's why most are still uncivilized and abandoned. They're incredibly hard to kill, they say."

Irres watched in silence as the three labourers walked by, oblivious to his presence. _There should not be people in this locale,_ he thought, examining their mannerisms. The red cheetah was the smallest, a slight, young female barely into adolescence, and was thin and weak. The olive one was a bit more muscled, but was emaciated and seemingly starved, ribs showing through his shirt. The drake was the most dangerous by virtue of his species, towering above his two associates, but had a thin neck juxtaposed against his muscled body. A fault.

_What business does their kind have here?_

"I've heard that for each head you cut off, two more grow in their place!" The female cheetah chimed excitedly. "They say they're unkillable!"

"That poses a problem for the building site, then," the olive cheetah commented. "You think those mercenaries can handle themselves?"

"They've got Spyro with them," the drake replied, haughty. "The construction will be fine with him keeping watch."

_Construction,_ Irres observed, mind racing. _'Tis not boding well._

The three intruders began to wander, fording deeper into the forest, ignorant of the shadow tracing their steps with quiet determination. He watched with keen, ocean blue eyes, concealed by the very forest he had been raised in. Laughter and conversation was traded between his three quarry, but the hunter spoke not a word, silent, cautious of trespassers that currently infringed his territory.

Time passed, the three labourers continued to explore the forest, blatantly disregarding Irres' silent wishes. Deeper and deeper into the thicket they travelled, passing prey and predator alike, ignored by the denizens of the forest bar one. They climbed the slanted hillside, passing through an icy crevasse to bypass the mountain, marvelling at the grand labyrinths the ice formed. Irres hid among the deep shadows of the crags, hiding from the light, watching his prey, waiting to learn their motives. As they passed through the crevasse, emerging onto a ledge overlooking a massive, snowed valley, filled with thickets of pine trees and covered in a fine layer of ice, they all stood dumbstruck, mouths agape in amazement, and a bout of incredulous exclamations passed around them. Irres, however, was worried. They were getting too close to home.

"Damn, I'd never think such a beautiful place could be found here," the drake commented, falling to the ground and curling his tail around his body. His breath formed a mist in front of his snout in the cold. "You'd think they'd build the temple here, rather than out on the tundra."

"Do you even think they know this place is here?" The red cheetah questioned, her expression quizzical. "It's fairly out of the way."

"Maybe we ought not to be here, then," the olive one replied, brow furrowed in worry. "If what you say is true, then if we get lost, they might not be able to find us."

"You worry too much, Jaquob," the drake teased. "Come on, let's head down into the valley and see what we can find! We'll be explorers!"

_No,_ Irres thought in panic. _This is too far._

The three trespassers leapt form the ledge and into the forest below, landing with a dull thud in the frosted grass. All three were stunned by the landing, and Irres, standing above them upon the ledge they just occupied, hidden from sight by a veil of shadow, took advantage of the momentary pause. With a burst of smoke he abandoned his shroud and leapt downwards, towards the olive cheetah, claws at the ready, black wings furled against his back, minimising his shadow.

Subtlety.

The cheetah had no idea what struck him in the back, for as Irres slammed into him and drove him to the ground, eliciting a pain outcry from his foe, he cast another spell of darkness and pulled his hapless foe into the ground, disappearing from sight. His companions leapt backwards in shock.

"What the-" The drake began, head swivelling frantically, looking for his friend. "Jaquob? Where are you?"

"What was that?" the red one asked.

Their companion was dead, throat torn and lying on the ground bleeding not too far away, hidden by the thicket of pine trees and gnarled roots. Irres kept to the shadows, hiding his midnight blue scales in a veil of black, acrid smoke. In the darkness of the trees, his quarry was blind to his presence.

Fear.

He scanned his opponents. The cheetah posed very little threat, but ignoring her was tantamount to suicide. The drake posed the greatest threat, yellow scales betraying his electrical element, but his neck was thin and weak, the perfect kink in the armour for Irres to exploit. The threat he posed came from his forearms – thick and powerful, with curved talons spread ready to tear flesh from bone. When the drake lifted a wing in front of his cheetah companion protectively, Irres spied another weakness, and readied himself once more.

Neither drake nor cheetah was prepared when Irres burst from the ground in an explosion of darkness, leaping under the drake's membrane and tackling the cheetah, grasping her legs with his razor talons. As he pulled her legs out from under her, yanking her to the ground, his talons torn through her fur and flesh, blood splattering the frosted ground as she cried out in pain. Before her draconic companion could respond Irres clamped his jaws around her arm and pulled her away, the taste of blood and fur overwhelming his sense of taste.

Manipulation.

"Get off her you fiend!" The dragon cried, readying lightning in the back of his throat. Irres saw the tell-tale glow in his mouth and immediately loosened his grip on the girl's arm, ignoring her cries of pain and leaping to the side as a bolt of lightning struck the ground he had just occupied. Irres summoned his own magic, markings glowing brightly in response. The drake gasped in shock at the sight of the volcanic veins criss-crossing his skin, unprepared as a bolt of condensed heat struck his forearm and seared his scales.

Taking advantage of the cry of pain, Irres dashed forward and again summoned his flame, wreathing his left paw in a miniature firestorm. He slashed at the drake's unwounded arm, pulling it out from underneath him and sending him careening into the ground with an agonised roar. With an unnatural deftness Irres grasped his opponent's neck, leaping behind him and wrapping his limbs around it. His forearms clenched the much larger dragon's jaw and snout, preventing any sound or outcry, and his limbs crossed over his lower neck, holding it tightly. The drake made a single, vain attempt to free himself from Irres' grasp, eyes wide with fear, before the shadow drake wrenched his forearms to the side, and a loud, resounding _snap_ echoed throughout the thicket.

Serenity.

The drake's body fell limp, motionless. Irres removed himself from his prey's body, leaping away and assuming another battle-ready position, wings wide and paws spread. The only sound that penetrated the silence of the forest was the quiet, horrified whimpering of the red cheetah girl, curled up in an agonised ball against the root of a pine tree, staring at both Irres and her friend. Tears ran down her face, and her legs and arm still bled freely, turning the frosted earth below into a canvas of pain. Her eyes shone brightly with fear, but as Irres lifted his body and composed himself more readily, he felt not a trace of mercy.

He approached her slowly, eyes hard, markings flickering with an unidentifiable emotion. The girl edged closer to the tree, gripping her chest with bloodstained hands in a vain attempt to hide herself from Irres' gaze. The shadow drake' eyes were hard, cold, unfeeling. They were the eyes of a misanthrope.

"Death."


	9. Chapter 5 - Wolves Alight

Times avoided profanity in story: 3

I'm rather impressed that I managed to get this chapter finished before the holidays ended. That gives me a bit of time to at least BEGIN work on the next one, although I wouldn't expect Chapter 6 until at least the end of the HSC Trials. Maybe this chapter will warm you guys up to Anareta a bit :P

Enjoy!

* * *

Wolves Alight

Cynder grit her teeth as an unbearable itching sensation crawled throughout her back, worming through the contours of her muscles like a devilish parasite, gnawing at her nerves. Flesh bonded with flesh, what was once broken now mended by a bright, powerful red glow centered along her abdomen as the hidden, blackened bruises and ruptured muscle beneath her scales was healed by the icy-blue dragoness next to her, one paw held protectively over a red crystal, the other held hesitantly over Cynder's stomach. The black dragoness clawed at the cloth she rested on, waiting for many, agonising seconds of unrelenting itching to pass. When the near-painful sensation finally relented, it left an exhausted, almost catatonic Cynder on the ground, breathing heavily at the exertion of healing.

"And we are done," the cyan-scaled dragoness next to her stated warmly, a sincere, naïve smile greeting Cynder. "Your back should be fine now, but try to avoid any strenuous activity for several hours, to be certain that there were no unseen complications."

Cynder lifted her upper body, stretching her forepaws and yawning loudly. She felt dizzy and disorientated from the healing, which was known to leave the patient with a strong sense of lethargy. The tent, homely as it was and comforting in its own strange way, did not help her tired body. The bed she lay on was rather makeshift, but nevertheless infinitely more restful than the icy ground.

"Remind me again what was wrong, exactly? It wasn't that bad yesterday."

"You bruised your spine rather badly," the dragoness informed, packing away the remnants of red crystal – their colour now drained, leaving them a leaden, dull grey – into a small leather satchel, which she flung around her arms, allowing the pack to rest against her back between her wings. "Thankfully, there was nothing broken, other than a few blood vessels and scales on the surface. I stitched the vessels back together and restored the bruise, but I took the liberty of leaving the scales alone. I hope you do not mind overmuch."

Cynder chuckled, examining the base of her tail. Several of the larger, more protective plates along her back were missing or otherwise damaged, exposing the black skin beneath, but they were small kinks in her armour and were not inconvenient. "Nah, that's fine. I'm always happy to have more scars in my collection. Thanks Joyce."

Joyce giggled girlishly and bowed respectfully. "You are welcome, Cynder. If you need me further, then I shall be at the Guardians' beck and call."

Cynder nodded in reply and left the tent, flinching slightly at the assault of cold that struck her upon leaving the cloth construction's warm embrace. The falling snow had abated slightly since the day previous, but Vitae's harsh winter refused to relent to the needs of the expedition. Construction had yet to begin – measurements needed to be taken, treaties and rights had to be ascertained, foundations needed to be lain – there were many things that needed to be undertaken before the building could actually be raised. For now, the airships had landed down on the tundra, and a small camp set up while Mason and the rest of his architects sorted through all the logistical and political tasks. Not for the first time, Cynder grateful she was on "guard duty" with Spyro and the _Wolves_ rather than serving as the Guardians' secretary. She was tired enough of that job from Warfang.

The camp was miniscule, but it served its purpose. Multiple rows of tents extended out from the massive embankment of the industrial zeppelin, which Cynder had found out earlier that day was named the _Ostentatious Leviathan_, and within the streets that separated them labourers, architects and other important people that Cynder had not bothered to acquaint herself with wandered around in a hurry, obviously performing some important task beyond Cynder's understanding.

_How boring,_ she mused, wandering aimlessly through the city of tents, searching for something to entertain herself. _At least Sacer was interesting. Why couldn't we build the Temple there, rather than out in the middle of nowhere in Vitae?_

Bereft of things to do in the tent city, the dragoness wandered into the belly of the airship – opened by a massive ramp extending from its left flank, revealing the gargantuan cargo bay of the industrial zeppelin to the whims of the weather – and examined her surroundings. Similar to outside, labourers and workers of every race and status – as was expected by the Guardians, sentinels of continued peace between the various races and factions of the Realms, after all – dashed to and fro, heeding the barking orders of their overseers. Enormous piles of earth and stone, carved perfectly into seamless rectangular blocks, still needed to be unloaded from the aircraft, as did several folded, mechanical cranes made of carved wood and forged brass machinery. The labourers ran past her as their masters ordered them, ignoring her as she wandered through the great vehicle's bowels.

"Ah, Cynder, there you are."

The dragoness, startled by her name, twirled around faster than she should have, facing the source of the noise. While years of combat instilled within her an instinct which forced her to be on alert, she immediately dropped her guard when Volteer emerged from the swarming crowd, standing near a collection of banners with Cyril and Hunter by his side, joined by a number of workers. She broke into a smile, and as she wandered over Volteer couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction.

"Did we frighten you, fledgling dragoness?" He queried with amusement. "Our hoary mugs surely cannot be so disturbing, could they?"

"I don't know, you could probably scare the belief in the ancestors out of a child if you snarled a bit, I think," Cynder jabbed rather disrespectfully. Cyril bristled visibly, but Volteer merely laughed.

"Your tongue is sharper than a harpoon, Cynder, as always," he commented, mirth apparent. "You appear mislaid. Is there not ought to occupy yourself with?"

"The _Wolves_ are scanning the perimeter for any signs of that hydra we fought, but nothing's come up since yesterday," she explained, sighing deeply. "And to be quite honest, lookout duty isn't the most riveting task I can think of. I'd rather something a bit more engaging than staring out across the flat tundra for hours on end."

Hunter chuckled deeply, sitting on a pile of wooden crates and watching the workers scurry about the zeppelin interior with a calm gaze. A large fur coat covered his body, shielding his thin form from the icy embrace of the wind. "Well, while I'm no supporter of danger, you'd do well to practice your magic now, before the Dragon Temple has finished instruction. Wouldn't want your new teachers to think you've gotten rusty now, do we?"

"New teachers?" Cynder asked quizzically. The thought of being lectured by old men was not a pleasant one.

"The Dragon Temple was not only a place to keep the next generation of younglings, Cynder," Cyril explained, exhaling intensely in contempt, tiny icicles upon his breath. "It also served as a repository for history and knowledge, with an extensive library and records chamber, as well as an educational facility for dragons, both young and old, who wished to master their elements. We have contracted several renowned theorists and teachers of draconic magic to serve as professors in the Temple until new Guardians can be appointed, as the Dragon Temple has traditionally only been serviced by the Order of the Guardians."

"I take it you've enrolled me in this…school, I guess," Cynder commented derisively, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust. "But…wait, you said Guardian_s_. I thought the fire Guardian was the only missing position. Are you retiring or something?"

"No! Of course not!" Cyril replied sharply, lifting his head in wounded pride. Cynder edged away a step, as was the routine whenever Cyril's pride got the better of him. "Terrador and Volteer are dedicated members of the Order, and have been through much in order to obtain their position. They would not give up their burden for anything, I am certain. No, what we speak of is a different matter."

"I am confident you are accustomed with the four elements Spyro brandishes, no?" Volteer began, gesturing towards the six banners that hung unused among a group of crates nearby. There were four that Cynder instantly recognized – the banners of ice, fire, earth and electricity, all emblazoned with their recognizable insignias and colour – but the two to the side, coloured white and black respectively, with emblems Cynder didn't recognize, confused her. "Spyro is still a fledgling. He has yet to master all magic offered to him, as his grand station as the purple dragon dictates. The Dragon Temple is committed not simply to the four elements we happen to employ, no. The Dragon Temple was customarily also conversant with two supplementary elements, elements just as vital as the four Spyro now exercises. These elements are wind and shadow, both primeval elements as substantial to the equilibrium of this world as fire, earth, ice and electricity. It is for these two elements that we pursue prospective Guardians, as do we fire."

The knowledge came as a shock to the black dragoness, and her eyebrows rose in surprise. In the three years since the Maleficarum War, Cynder had been forced to accept the four forms of magic which she now found in her possession – poison, fear, wind and shadow, which she was hesitant to label as "elements". Shadow and wind dragons were not uncommon occurrences, and Cynder had met several practitioners of those elements in the interim between the War and now, but her other two elements, poison and fear, were pariahs amongst their magical brethren as far as Cynder could determine, having found no employers of the two types of magic since her release. The Guardians has hypothesised that they were not elements, but rather certain subsets of magic, perhaps of cheetah origin, that had been implanted within her and edited to match a dragon's usual magical harness, as opposed to the cheetah's shamanistic, chant-based magical form. These explanations had given her no comfort, and being bereft of a teacher for three years had led to her magic skill and potency waning in disuse, even her weekly spars with Spyro doing nothing more than helping her practice techniques she had already mastered.

And so, the prospect of finally having a master to teach her of her elements, even simply two of them, was a possibility that brightened Cynder's mood considerably.

"I'll finally have someone to instruct me on my magic, then?" She confirmed, a smile breaking on her lips as Volteer nodded. "Brilliant! Maybe now I can do more than just fan somebody with my wind." A thought occurred to her, and she frowned momentarily. "But…what about my other magic? Fear and poison? What am I to do with them? Let them rot?"

"For now, it may be wise to put aside your thoughts on those two segments of your magic," Cyril began, stroking the ice-blue banner with a shade of reminiscence clouding his eyes, as though he was not all there. "There is little to be done on them for now. Perhaps once the Temple is constructed and our halls filled with visitors and students, then we can begin to determine the nature of your power. I daresay it will be a curious mystery, unravelling the embodiment of your gifts. Malefor's work was always intriguing, back before his fall from grace, however twisted his tastes."

The immediate surroundings grew silent, not a single word uttered. Hunter stilled, watching the ice drake with a confused eye, while Cynder simply stared at Cyril in utter bewilderment, hurt somewhat by the elder's words. Volteer looked at his fellow Guardian with sorrow-filled eyes, and nudged him gently with his tail, knocking him out of his wistful delirium with a start.

"Cyril," he muttered. "You begin to sound like I."

"Ah, I apologise," Cyril stated, glancing in Cynder's direction for a brief moment, before returning his gaze to the ice banner. "I am allowing the past to trap me in melancholy again. Forgive me, Cynder. My words were crass."

An awkward silence once again descended upon the group. Cynder began to fiddle with her paws, scratching at her scales, while Volteer simply gazed at his fellow elder with a sad expression. Hunter cleared his throat, interrupting the monotony, and gestured once to Cynder, and then to the exit of the zeppelin's cargo bay.

"Perhaps Volteer might show Cynder to the others?" Hunter suggested. "I do believe that Spyro was with Maven," he stumbled slightly at her name, "and a few of her comrades, down by the river, keeping watch for that hydra. I would guess you're interested in a bit of revenge on that scaly serpent, aye, Cynder?"

Cynder chuckled. "Oh yeah. I need to repay it for the back pains it decided to give me last night."

"Very well," Volteer stated. "Follow me, Cynder. I shall escort you there."

Their exit of the airship interior was a quiet one, and leaving Cyril behind with the quiet, yet watchful Hunter apparently did not rest well with the lightning Guardian, as he kept his head turned the entire time. As the two dragons, separated by age and experience, leapt onto the frosted, wet ground, shivers running down both their lengths, Cynder faced Volteer with an anxious, quizzical expression.

"Something seems off about Cyril," she mentioned, following Volteer as he began to traverse the minor tent city, avoiding labourers and members of the _Wolves_ with a deftness that surprised the dragoness. "He hasn't been himself ever since we left Warfang, and I can't help but have my suspicions. Ancestors, he even apologised to me! Since when does Cyril ever do _that_?"

"You do not allow the ice drake enough credit, young fledgling," Volteer commented, his mood clearly morose. "Several developments recently have left him…introspective. Recent discoveries of his past have arisen to plague him, and reminiscence is a simple snare for a drake of his age to fall into. I apologise for his behaviour in advance, as there is little I can do to assist him. It is a dilemma he must overcome himself."

"That bad, h-uh?"

Volteer nodded. "Unfortunately. It affects his fellow Guardians similarly, but it is a discussion for another time. Come, we should hurry."

The rest of their journey was spent in a blissful silence, wandering through the campsite with chilled scales and inward thoughts. Cynder's mind was abuzz, attempting to determine the nature of Volteer and Cyril's words, but for all the cunning of her tactician's brain she couldn't come to any conclusion. Cyril's eyes had been wistful and lost, distant, in a word, and Volteer's morose attitude to his partner's strange behaviour only exacerbated her suspicions. Nevertheless, Cynder did not know the ice drake well and thus was left with only her own frustration in place of a conclusion.

Several things came to the dragoness' mind, however. She recalled the glint in his eyes upon word of Ignitus' death, all those years ago – a minor event, to be sure, but it stuck in Cynder's mind for reasons she did not understand. While the dragoness was terrible at reading body language, having been raised only for combat and strategy, she had a knack for determining intent through someone's eyes – and the glimmer in Cyril's eyes that day was not overly sullen, as it was for his fellow Guardians, but neither was it entirely malicious. It was a wistful, reminiscent, somewhat cynical glint. Cynder recalled the time barely a few weeks ago when he had, entirely on a whim, reached out to her to help her with her personal problems, and once again had gazed forlornly at Volteer and Terrador with a shimmer in his eyes that could only be described as redolent. The number three is a number steeped in symbolism and meaning, and for the third time that Cynder could remember she had seen that nostalgic shine, just moments ago. Why, however, was still a mystery, and Volteer's words made it clear to her that it was a matter to carefully avoid.

Of course, that only piqued the dragoness' curiosity even further, and the adolescent had never been known for respecting her elders.

"And here we are," Volteer uttered, snapping Cynder from her introspection. Before her stood a motley assortment of _Wolves_ members – she recognized Maven, wrapped in a thick wool coat; Heath, for some odd reason adorning a set of ornate ebony armour; the canidae, Cutler, leather armour mixed with steel strapped to his body like chains – collected around a bend in the river, across the stretch of water from the clearing where the hydra had struck. Snow was still scattered about the area, some stretches darkened a sickly swamp green from where its acidic venom had struck the ground.

And of course, the bright, glowing figure of Anareta, mane burning brighter than Cynder had ever seen before, seemed to dominate the picture. She wore no clothing, no armour, content in the protection that her strip of flame offered her from the cold. Seeing the violet-scaled, boxy-chested, earnestly-smiling figure of Spyro standing next to her, laughing in merriment along with her, sent a shard of jealousy into Cynder's chest like an arrow. Unceremoniously her upper lip curled back in a subconscious snarl, despite the reasoning of her mind.

_I know I'm taking this out of proportion,_ she thought, attempting to banish the gnawing doubt, failing miserably. Her mind was perfectly logical, accepting Anareta's presence without a pause, but higher brain functions as always were subservient to the whims of her impish heart. _But as much as I enjoy her company, it still gets to me. Nobody else does – not Beatrice, not Belle, only her. Why?_

"I'll allow you to mingle with your fellows in peace," Volteer stated, turning on his heel. "Do try not to conflagrate the campsite with your meanderings."

Cynder ignored the Guardian as he returned to the airship, instead approaching the group of mercenaries with bold abandon. As they noticed her presence, she lifted a wing in response to their greetings, painting her face with a warm, welcoming smile.

"Hey Cyn," Cutler greeted before the others, rising to his feet as she approached. "Good to see you out of the shadows for once." His thick accent made him sound more like _Good ta' say ya' out a' tha' shadhows fa' once. _Still more cultured than the rest of his kind, but nevertheless quite rustic.

"Ugh, don't call me that," Cynder replied with disgust. "That nickname sounds like 'sin.'"

"Ohh, bad call," Anareta commented, hiding a smirk. "Vates already got the stare of death by calling her the 'Terror of the Skies.' I'd hate to see what calling her 'sin' every hour of every day would do."

"Nothing good for you, that's for sure," Cynder spat, hiding a smile.

Spyro strode forward, coming to a halt just next to Cynder, where he put on a worried expression. "Morning Cynder," he greeted. "How's your back doing? No complications?"

Cynder shook her head. "Nope. Joyce said I was good as new."

An audible sigh of relief escaped his maw, and out of the corner of her eye Cynder thought she could see Maven smirk to herself, baring her sharpened teeth. Ignoring it, the dragoness continued. "Any news? Has the hydra been spotted since yesterday?"

"Nup," Cutler replied, scratching the side of his snout. "Lithe snake ran off into the tundrah durin' the snowstorm yesterday. 'Aven't seen it since."

"Which means another boring day ahead for us," Maven complained, wrapping her cloak tighter around her frame. The icy wind had picked up suddenly, sending snow and ice into everyone's faces.

"Boring?" came an annoying, impossible-to-mistake voice. Noticing Sparx for the first time, hovering next to Spyro's neck with an agitated fidgeting, Cynder threw him a condescending, mocking smirk, before looking back at Maven. "I'd prefer to be bored than getting eaten by giant snakes any day."

"Now, Maven, don't complain now," Heath interrupted. As he spoke, the ornate black armour that covered his body clinked and shifted, betraying just how complex its design was. Although the thick plates along his shoulders, arms, chest and legs were undecorated, the small connectors and under padding keeping everything together was chiselled and woven with old cheetah dialect. On his thigh rested a great, ebony shield, at least as tall as he was, and just as wide, and on his hip hung a long, threaded mace of thick, forged steel, which within the coiled metal sat a small, polished, rounded blue stone, obviously magical in nature. "You had plenty of practice yesterday against those wolves, not to mention you severed the head of a hydra. I think you could use some rest now."

Maven spat. "Spoilsport. You're the one telling me I can always use more practice. Why don't you let me try on that armour of yours and I'll go one on one with Spyro here?"

"The day you don this armour is the day I lie buried beneath your feet," Heath replied curtly, much to Maven's chagrin.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea though," Spyro commented, moving away from the group. He found an empty patch of ground – not that it was difficult on the tundra, mind you – and took a battle ready position. "If there's nothing around, we might as well find a way to pass the time, and I think it's time for mine and Cynder's weekly sparring session anyway."

Spyro spread his lips into a wide grin and raised his eyebrow, waiting for Cynder's reaction. The expression caught the dragoness off-guard and for a moment she faltered, unable to reply, legs weak, before she asserted control quickly and strode forward, standing opposite of Spyro and adopting a similar position, legs spread, wings opens, rear raised. Anareta, Cutler, Sparx, Maven and Heath all gathered to the side, near the river, and began watching with apparent interest.

"More fighting, great," Sparx commented dryly. "This'll be grand."

"You don't get to say anything, little lantern," Anareta retorted, grinning broadly at the response she elicited. "You weren't there yesterday. Instead you decided to hole up in the zeppelin because it was too cold."

"Cynder," Sparx hissed through grit teeth. The dragoness looked at him innocently, batting her eyelids. "You told her to use that nickname, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cynder reacted.

"So, Cynder," Spyro began, grinning broadly. "I hope Joyce was right about your back. I don't want to have to count this victory as null because of an injury."

"Oh, shut it Spyro," Cynder replied, a fierce smile painting her snout. "Last time you said that I ended up standing over your unconscious body. Besides, it's one-hundred thirty-six to one-hundred thirty-five, your way – it's my turn to win."

"Don't be so certain," Spyro warned in return.

The wind was cold, and had not abated. Snow had yet to fall, but a thick layer of cloud still obscured the sun, sending shivers down Cynder's back. The grass was wet under Cynder's paws from melted snow and ice. Spyro's expression, while twisted into a smirk of obvious cock-sure confidence, was also hardened by the determination in his eyes, forged by struggles and combat. His crimson canvas wings were spread wide like canopies, concealing the forest across the river, his golden belly plating toughened and hardened under the embrace of the cold. His talons were bared, digging into the wet ground like spikes – he wouldn't hold back, he never did when sparring. For him, it was all or nothing. Very similar to Cynder's own creed.

Maven watched the two adolescents with an eager gaze, a smile tugging at her feline lips, whiskers twitching excitedly. Cutler likewise was growing excited, a feral grin exposing his sharpened teeth. Heath stood next to Maven, watching the proceedings like a guard, eyes trained on Spyro and Cynder's forms, as if silently criticizing their method, as a teacher should. Anareta, however, was watching with a sternness that surprised Cynder – she had rested her body on the ground, front arms crossed and tail motionless, her mane burning rather dimly. Eyes like jade were fixed on Spyro's amethyst scales and Cynder jet ones like a watchtower, a glimmer of…uncertainty, or hope. Cynder was having difficulty determining.

Cynder's thoughts were quickly abandoned at the _scrunch_ of dirt and a quick rush of wind.

The dragoness had barely moments to respond before a host of sharpened talons raked through the air where she had just stood. Spyro's first strike was a swift, simple one – a rapid lunge with a swipe of his paw, but it was enough to immediately set Cynder on the defensive, her weakest position. Following his initial attack, Spyro followed with a multi-strike slash combo that Cynder dodged with deftness, continually leaping backwards to avoid his talons. This was mundane combat – no magic, all strength – and although Cynder could easily avoid the purple drake's onslaught, there was no opening for her to be offensive as Spyro continued to assail her with slashes.

Beating her wings to propel her into the air, backpedalling to avoid Spyro's combo, Cynder gathered a vat of dark energy in her throat, spitting it with force enough to cause notable recoil. It struck the ground in front of her opponent and sent up an acrid cloud of black smoke, a smokescreen, and with Spyro distracted Cynder floated away, landing a fair distance away from the lavender dragon, now concealed in a veil of black, sticky gas. She could hear his coughs, and a smirk appeared on her snout.

Before the smoke could clear, she channelled her wind through her paws and shot off in a sprint towards Spyro. She struck out with her own claws as she dived into the smokescreen, and a pained snarl was her reward as Spyro was sent hurtling out of the cloud from the impact of her magic. The wind was a gale, scattering the veil of blackness and removing Cynder's camouflage, but the dragoness no longer needed it. Spyro stood a few metres away, clutching his bleeding neck, and shot a friendly growl at Cynder, the grin still plastered on his face despite the wound.

"Come on, Spyro," Cynder taunted, relaxing her body for a moment. "You know that technique."

"I thought I should give you a point in your favour before I start cleaning the tundra with your behind, Cynder," Spyro replied.

In that moment, Spyro flashed Cynder the most cheesy, sincere yet incredibly endearing smile the dragoness has ever seen. His eyes glittered like gemstones, and for a moment Cynder felt her legs weaken and shake in anticipation, caught completely off-guard by Spyro's gaze.

In Cynder's hesitation, Spyro saw advantage. The violet drake launched forward, propelled dually by his hind legs and the beat of his wings, and head-butted Cynder sharply in the chest. An agonised hiss escaped her mouth and she was sent hurtling backwards, where she landed on the wet ground with a _thud_ and skidded several meters. After a moment's pause, where the black dragoness simply lay limp on the ground in pain, she slowly pulled herself to her feet and glared at Spyro with a hateful gaze, baring her teeth in rage. Cynder swore she had heard a slight _crack_ as Spyro struck her.

_The little cur,_ she muttered to herself. _He took advantage of that._

Being hit was a problem. Cynder's strength laid not in her endurance, but in her speed. Alone, Cynder was fragile, weak of body. While she could dart around the battlefield faster than any other dragon her age, confounding her opponents with a mixture of subterfuge and deception – indeed, her set of elements only supported that view – she could barely take a hit. Under Malefor's control she had been not only fast and powerful, but bulky as well despite her feminine frame. It was one of the few things she missed about transitioning into her larger, corrupted form, for as an adolescent dragon, barely on the cusp of adulthood, Cynder still needed to learn how to block effectively. And now that Spyro had already struck her, with one of his most devastating head-butts no less, she had the disadvantage.

At Cynder's deathly glare, the grin that had painted Spyro's snout thus far evaporated instantly. As Cynder took another battle stance, Spyro's expression turned serious, his lips forming into a grimace of determination as Cynder launched herself at the drake once more. With a burst of wind magic the dragoness closed the distance faster than Spyro was expecting, and the purple dragon lifted his paws to block Cynder's rapid assault of slashes and swipes. Blood splattered the ground as lines of red opened on Spyro's arms, and with one final push Cynder struck out at him with her maw wide open. Dodging the attack with a speed unexpected, Spyro ducked and attempted another head-butt, only for Cynder to grasp his horns tightly with her paws and somersault over his body, landing several metres behind him as he launched forward with wild abandon.

Charging a ball of fear in her throat, she launched a humming sphere of blood-red energy towards Spyro, who blocked it with a wall of stone. Launching into the air and over the earthen shield, Cynder coated her talons in a glowing, green aura of sickly, envenomed energy and began swiping at Spyro once more, only to have him summon a sphere of earth from the ground to guard his already-wounded body. Cynder unleashed a rapid onslaught of slashes and swipes, hundreds of malachite kisses striking the rotund stone with reckless fury, slowly chipping away at the thick shield. With a wild cry, the jet dragoness struck a weakened, bevelled section of the rock with a scissor-shaped strike of her paws, shattering the shield and sending shards of stone scattering around the area. Spyro immediately launched forward out of his protective bunker and, with talons bared, clamped his paws around Cynder's forearms and pulled them to the ground all in the space of a second. A victorious grin spread across his face, but his smile faltered as Cynder smirked in reply, jamming her envenomed wing blades into his shoulders. Spyro cried out in pain as the debilitating – but not lethal – venom spread throughout his arms, temporarily paralysing his upper body, and Cynder finished the lengthy combo with a potent, wind-empowered head-butt that sent Spyro sprawling backwards, lying on the ground belly-up and groaning in pain.

As the remnants of the drake's shield fell to the ground, Cynder stood over Spyro's limp body with a triumphant grin, while Maven, Heath, Anareta and Cutler simply stared in awe.

"That was magnificent!" Heath praised, putting his armoured hands together in applause. "Such skill! I've never seen the control you two displayed in combat from anyone your age! Truly, you two are worthy of your titles!"

"I'll say," Anareta agreed. "That was a nice trick, Cynder. I forget about those blades on your wings sometimes."

Cynder's victorious grin was a reply, and with cockiness she turned to look at the limp body of Spyro, resting on the ground with a paralysed upper body. He was staring at Cynder with an awkward expression, halfway between admiration and shame in his defeat.

"Do you mind letting me move, now?" He asked simply, nodding his head in the direction of his chest. Cynder giggled.

"Sorry, Spyro buddy," she teased, keeping her front paws firmly on his chest, avoiding the bloody wounds on his shoulders and forearms. "You'll have to wait for Joyce to wash it out of your system. You know I can't control the venom once it's in you."

At Spyro's annoyed groan, Cynder lifted her head to see a large group of people flooding in from the campsite, gathering in a circle around her and Spyro, like an arena. They were all whispering in curiosity and excitement, and a few let out whistles and cries of victory in Cynder's favour, others shouting their support for Spyro. The clamour was surprising, and for a moment Cynder revelled in the attention, flashing a confident smirk to the onlooking crowd. She received another cheer in reply, which only stroked her ego.

"Don't get too proud, Cynder," Spyro commented, wielding his own smile. "The crowd is a finicky thing."

Before Cynder could reply, a light-blue scaled figure rushed forward from the crowd, eyes wide in worry. Joyce stopped before Cynder, pulling her pack from her back and rapidly spreading her utensils on the ground. She quickly examined the two adolescents with an analytical eye, before throwing Cynder a disappointed frown, which Cynder replied with a sheepish, awkward shrug.

"Cynder, I told you to take it easy," she complained, placing several red gems next to Spyro's limp form as Cynder leapt away. "Sparring is not exactly a relaxing activity."

As a red glow spawned from Joyce's paws, enveloping Spyro's torso in a ray of crimson energy, Cynder snorted. "Maybe not for you. Besides, I'm fine."

The sound of wet footsteps told Cynder that Maven, Heath, Anareta and Cutler had just ran to their side, away from the rest of the gathered crowd.

"You mean other than that charge you took to the stomach," Maven interrupted with a smirk, earning a filthy glare from the black dragoness. Joyce swallowed nervously and returned to Spyro's wounds. The purple drake's cuts along his arm had healed fully, no scars or marks to speak of, and motion had returned to his upper body. The two incisions along his shoulders were almost healed, the flesh knitting and mending under a soft, rich scarlet glow, although from Spyro's grin of discomfort one might have imagined Joyce was inflicting wounds of her own.

"Grim 'n dour, you might as well stick around," Anareta advised. "This is only the first round. We're most likely gonna be spending the rest of the day hurting each other."

"Very well," Joyce relented, removing her paws from Spyro's body as he pulled himself to his feet. She packed the leaden stones back into her satchel, taking one last inspection of Spyro's wounds to ascertain there were no complications. "I shall stay on the sidelines. Call me if you need me."

"Well then, who's next?" Maven asked, rubbing her gloved paws together in anticipation. "We have a crowd now, so there's no shortage of people to bet against. We might as well make this next one exciting, and I know for a fact everyone wants to see more of our two celebrities."

"I am."

Everyone's eyes turned to Heath as he unexpectedly volunteered himself. No one was more shocked than Maven, who stared at him with eyes shimmering with confusion.

"That's the first time I've ever heard you offer to be a punching bag," Maven commented, scratching her head. "But hey, if I get to watch the old man get his tail handed to him on a silver platter, I'll not complain."

"Hey, who said I wanted to fight again?" Spyro cried out indignantly.

"I did," Cynder countered. "Now, Heath, how's this going to work? First me, then Spyro, against you?"

Heath chuckled, lifting his thick shield and placing his arm through its handle. Maven passed him his helmet, a well-crafted, thickly-plated full helmet with a visor, and he placed it over his head, keeping the visor raised. "Why don't we do two against one? I'd welcome the challenge." His voice was muffled, but still audible.

Spyro and Cynder exchanged quick glances, before sharing a unified shrug of acceptance. "Sure," Spyro agreed. "If you want."

The two teams moved to opposite ends of the makeshift arena, a wall of onlookers serving as its borders. As Heath unsheathed his mace, throwing a few twirls to gauge its weight, Spyro and Cynder took offensive stances facing towards the black-furred cheetah. Cynder took several deep breathes, calming herself for the upcoming conflict, but as Spyro turned his head towards her it appeared he had a few questions to ask first.

"Fighting the both of us at once isn't a smart move," he muttered, keeping his voice just loud enough for Cynder to hear. "No matter how good he is, a cheetah going up against two dragons alone is folly enough. But we both have four elements, and have some fairly extensive experience in combat, not to mention we make an incredible team." The last segment was uttered with a smile of affection, and Cynder felt her self-esteem bloom for a moment, taking solace in the warmth her body felt in that moment. "He has to have something up his sleeve if he thinks he can take the both of us at once."

Cynder frowned, examining her opponent. Heath had taken a defensive stance at the other end of the field, the large kite shield held up protectively, concealing most of his body from harm. The threaded mace in his right arm was held back, ready to swing, but what caught Cynder's attention most was the small blue gem embedded within the twisting metal. The crowd's low mutterings had turned into clamorous shouting, drowning out most sound. Most were chanting Spyro and Cynder's names, urging their victory, but Cynder could hear precious few yelling Heath's name, no doubt members of the _Wolves_.

"Magic, maybe?" Cynder suggested. "That gem in his mace has me worried. I don't know much about cheetah magic, but…"

Cutler strode into the centre of the clearing and calmed the raging crowd with a few hand gestures. "'Right everyone, be quiet so we can start. This'll be Heath 'ere against your own celebrities Spyro an' Cynder. Place your bets people! Now, before we begin, is there anythin' the contestants ought to do to prepare?"

Heath raised his mace hand, lifting it above his kite shield. He tapped the hilt on the rim of the metal shield several times, and the gemstone embedded in the weapon began to glow in a bright, azure light. A pulse of energy extended outwards from the weapon, and a large, glowing ring appeared around the cheetah, extending several meters, forming a near-invisible field surrounding the knight. Spyro and Cynder swapped anxious expressions, gritting their teeth in anticipation.

"I'm ready."

"Alright, a quick sit-rep," Spyro began, talking rapidly. "I'll strike with magic at him first. I want to know what that ring does. Afterwards…we'll improvise."

Cynder nodded in reply.

Cutler swung his arm down and leapt backwards into the ring of onlookers. A frenzied cry burst forth from the crowd as Spyro opened his maw and let loose a bolt of lightning, arcing through the air towards the armour form of Heath. As the yellow lightning reached the ring, the bolt evaporated almost instantly, disappearing as though it had never traced a grand arc towards its target. At Spyro and Cynder's dumbfounded expressions, Heath chuckled in amusement, swinging his mace.

"Nice try."

The cheetah broke out into a sprint. His heavy armour slowed him down, but Shadebeard was still a cheetah, and a league faster than Spyro and Cynder were. The distance between the combatants was closed almost instantaneously, and Spyro and Cynder leapt in opposite directions to avoid Heath's swinging mace. As the ring of magic enveloped the two adolescents, Cynder felt a shiver run down her spine as the magic held within her jet frame began to tingle, maliciously affected by whatever arcane sorcery Heath had conjured. With a frantic beat of her crimson wings Cynder took to the air, removing herself from the field's embrace.

_It's an anti-magic field,_ she thought, snarling. _That makes things difficult._

Spyro had other ideas. The drake must have felt the adverse effect the anti-magic field had on his body, but he leapt towards Heath with wild drive. Although he coated his paws in electricity, attempting to abuse the conductivity of Heath's armour, the enchantment abated immediately and the powerful slashes were blocked almost effortlessly by the kite shield. The knight bashed Spyro in the jaw with the edge of the gargantuan ebony shield, stunning the drake, and took a powerful right-hand swing at Spyro's hip. Thankfully the lavender-scaled dragon ducked just in time, backpedalling away from the danger the coiled piece of metal freely gave.

Cynder tucked in her wings and dove at the distracted cheetah, talons bared, but with supernatural reflexes Heath swivelled and met her strike with shield raised. Although the onslaught was strong, pushing the knight backwards several inches through the grass, Heath merely swung to the left and pushed Cynder away, the black dragoness passing alongside him harmlessly. Before Heath could lacerate her exposed belly, Cynder tucked in her limbs and rolled away, leaping backwards to land next to Spyro.

"Now what?" Spyro queried, teeth bared and breathing heavily.

Cynder quickly reviewed what little she knew of anti-magic fields. At a basic level, anti-magic fields halted the activation and continuation of magical energy. In short, they prevented magic from activating, rather than cancelling its effects. For energy-based magic, such as electricity and fear, this posed an incredible problem, as every effect conjured was made of purely energy, rather than mass, and needed to be maintained by the caster on most occasions. However, an anti-magic field couldn't stop physical magic, such as an earth dragon causing an earthquake, unless the caster themselves was inhibited by the field.

"We need to separate him from his mace," Cynder ordered. "The anti-magic field won't stop a projectile, but it will stop energy. Try an earth bolt, or an ice spike. I'll stick to poison and wind, since they rely on physical alterations. Go in from the sides."

"Right."

As the two adolescents separated once more, the crowd blocking them in began to cheer in enthusiasm. Heath lifted his shield to face Cynder as the dragoness coated her wingblades and talons in sickly jade rancour, lashing out at the cheetah with fury. Even her metal implants barely dented the kite shield, despite her barrage of strikes, but the cheetah's attention was focused on her, and that was all Cynder needed. The dragoness paused momentarily, allowing Heath to raise his mace in preparation to strike.

"Now, Spyro!"

A loud rumble shook the clearing and a condensed ball of earth rocketed through the air, striking Heath's hand with the force of a rockslide. The cheetah cried out in pain at the weapon was forcibly removed from his hand, sent flying over to the other side of the arena, taking the anti-magic field with it. Cynder smirked in triumph, but her victory was short lived as a lance of pain struck her stomach. Heath had leapt forward, shield arm outstretched, and stabbed the dragoness' vulnerable abdomen with the end of his kite shield. The armament was blunt, but that only exacerbated the pain. To finish the job, Heath withdrew his arm and smacked Cynder across the neck and jaw with the face of the shield, sending her flying in a similar manner to his mace, landing next to the crowd of onlookers with a heavy _thud_.

Even as several of the audience members knelt down to help her, Cynder waved them away as she returned to her feet, hissing in pain. Back in the arena, Spyro had tackled Heath from behind, clawing at the cheetah's armour, and although Heath was still struggling to remove the drake neither was Spyro doing any damage against that armour. Cynder took a step forward to re-join her comrade, but another bolt of pain struck her stomach and she immediately curled into a ball once more.

"Lightning!" She cried out. "Use lightning!"

Spyro heeded her words, as when Heath was about to hurl Spyro off of him, Spyro opened his maw and unleashed a thick lance of electricity onto Heath's back plating. The thick armour, protecting the knight from the talons and blades of Spyro and Cynder, did little to stop the advanced wave of pulsating lightning as it danced along his skin. Spyro leapt from the cheetah's back as he cried out in pain, spasm-ing in place for several long moments, before collapsing to the ground in a smoking heap.

The crowd erupted into a chorus of ear-splitting roars, and Cynder simply looked on in pride as Spyro stood next to Heath, wearing a triumphant grin that looked oh-so-perfect on him.

Cynder limped over to Spyro's side as the crowd continued to cheer, staring at Heath's limp body as Maven, Sparx and Cutler ran to his side. "Well done," she praised, smiling broadly. "Will Heath be ok?"

Joyce sprinted from the sidelines, stopping at Heath's side, and Maven chuckled loudly. "Ah, don't worry about Heath. He's a tough old cat, and I doubt a bit of a shock will do him in."

"That's lucky," Spyro muttered in concern. "I was a bit worried for a second. I didn't know how much power to put in to stop him, but not hurt him."

"He'll be fine," Joyce affirmed, removing the cheetah's armour with Cutler's assistance. "A few hours rest and some treatment for these burns and he'll be as good as new."

"Yikes," Sparx muttered, floating over to Cynder's head and punching her gently in the brow, earning a hiss from the dragoness. "Don't make me worry like that! When the armour-dude smacked you in the stomach with his shield, I thought you'd broken something!"

"I'm glad you're worried for me," Cynder replied, containing laughter.

Spyro's sigh of relief was genuine, and Cynder bumped his side gently in humour. "Thanks for covering me, Spyro. A pity we couldn't use some of our more advanced techniques. I would've liked to show off what we can do."

Spyro laughed. "Aye, that would've been fun. These people haven't seen half of what we can do."

"How about we show them?"

Anareta's voice broke through all other sounds to reach Cynder's ears, and as she turned to see the red dragoness approach, mane burning brightly. Her smile exposed her upper fang, giving her a hostile, dangerous atmosphere. Her emerald eyes were fixated upon the purple drake, eyeing him with curious intent.

"What do you mean, Ana?" Spyro asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Just one last spar. How about that?" She clarified, gesturing to herself. Her voice was light and mocking, but nevertheless almost…enticing. "Me and you, one on one. I'd like to see how well I fair against the purple dragon of legend."

Jealousy once more impaled Cynder's heart at Anareta's suggestion, but she forcibly controlled it and looked at Spyro expectantly, awaiting his answer. Although once could easily determine that he was tired, the way his breathing was laboured and how his tail hung limp behind him, he smiled in enthusiasm and nodded vigorously in reply, much to Cynder's surprising dissatisfaction.

"Sure. One last round. _Try_ to make it last long enough for me to enjoy it, won't you?"

Anareta laughed. "I could say the same to you. Don't disappoint me."

"Spyro," Cynder interrupted as Anareta strode to the other side of the field. The crowd had begun to stir once more, expectant of the upcoming battle. "Are you sure you should be doing this? You're already pretty exhausted from the previous two fights."

Sparx hovered over from his position at Cynder's head, taking watch next to Spyro's left horn. "I have to agree with Cyn, for once." He winked at Cynder's loathing gaze before continuing. "You should take a break. You got cut along the arms, impaled in your shoulders and smacked in the face by a very large block of metal."

The lavender drake shrugged nonchalantly, exacerbating Cynder's frustration even further. "I'll be fine. It's just one round, anyway, and if I want to stop I can. Besides, it's just Anareta. I think I'll be fine."

"Just Anareta" partially put Cynder's mind at ease, but a shard of anxiety still persisted. Nevertheless, she respected Spyro wishes, giving him a quick nod of support and striding over to the sidelines, where she took a seat next to Maven and Cutler. On her right side, Joyce was still labouring over Heath, who remained unconscious. Sparx followed her after muttering a few words of encouragement to Spyro, taking a seat in the crux between her horns. Cynder allowed it, for now.

Spyro took up an offensive stance, widening his wings and spreading his front paws. He flexed his talons several times and spat a burning mass of fire onto the ground, where it quickly fizzled out of existence, before facing Anareta. The red dragoness on the opposite side of the arena took up a similar pose, but was far more relaxed, keeping her head up and wings tucked next to her body. Her tail was coiled upwards like a rearing snake, as though rearing to strike, and the mane along her body was burning brighter by the second, sparks scattered everywhere by the caress of the tundra wind.

"What should I expect from Anareta?" Cynder directed at Maven, who had taken a seat next to her and was rubbing her chin thoughtfully, examining both combatants in an attempt to gauge their effectiveness.

"Anareta's a spellcaster," Maven clarified. "She'll try and keep at a distance probably, although she's not too shabby at close quarters combat either. Still, she's at a disadvantage if she goes for a purely magical strategy, since Spyro's got a whole menagerie of elements to play around with, whereas Ana's only got fire."

"From what I saw yesterday, she's fairly proficient in it."

Maven snorted. "_Fairly_ proficient? Cynder if that girl was a bit older, she could probably be the next fire Guardian. I've seen a couple of fire dragons pass through our group, and not one's been as good as her."

Cynder's eyebrow shot up with phenomenal speed at Maven's words, and her scratching doubt returned with godly speed. "She seems so young though."

"We could say the same about you and Spyro," Sparx observed.

"Fair point."

Before Cynder could say anything else, Cutler whistled with ear-splitting sound and the battle was underway. For a split-second, neither combatant moved, watching each other with cautious gazes. Sparks were flying between them, each one attempting to gauge the other's power, and with a start, Anareta opened combat with a tongue of flame from her maw, enveloping half the battlefield in conflagration.

Spyro pulled up a sphere of stone to protect himself from the fire, and the moment the onslaught abated he banished the shield and leapt into the air, talons bared. Anareta must have seen this coming, for she leapt out of the way of his dive and backpedalled several metres away from Spyro's raging claws. Her mane died for a moment as she coated her paws in flame, slamming them into the ground and summoning a wall of fire to separate herself from Spyro. The wall was massive; at least three metres high and shimmering with orange incandescence, a perfect example of fire magic mastery, and Cynder found herself agreeing with Maven's assertion almost immediately. Not content with the writhing wall of fire, Anareta roared loudly and arched her back, allowing her mane to expand and surround her body, forming a shimmering orb of embers and sparks to shield her from harm.

Spyro would not be stopped so easily, however. With a fierce scowl, he leapt forward and rolled across the ground, pulling up stone and earth as he moved. When he righted himself once more, he donned a makeshift-yet-effective set of stone armour, covering most of his body. Tucking his exposed wings into his sides, he jumped forward and launched a sphere of condensed cold at Anareta, the glowing orb of snow impacting the ground in front of her. Sadly, the attack did little to abate Anareta's heated defences, and as Spyro rushed forward with talons spread Anareta simply unleashed another plume of fire, forcing Spyro to somersault to the side to avoid a burning wound. Even circling her and striking from behind was of little aid, as Anareta summoned a whip of fire from her tail and began flailing it wildly, striking Spyro's chest plates and preventing him from getting any closer.

_She's good_, Cynder noted, to herself more than anyone. _Very good. But she's a wandering vagabond who happened to join the Wolves. Where did she learn her techniques? You don't earn that level of mastery from simple practice._

Spyro was stuck. Melee was not an option for the lavender-scaled drake as long as Anareta's defences were up. Not only was his approach compromised by the flailing tongue of fire she had summoned, but the orb of heat that surrounded her body prevented anyone from touching her without harm. Even with his earthen armour, the heat emanating from her magic was simply too much for him to handle. Cynder thought she could make out a snarl from underneath the layer of slate, his eyes burning with determination.

Suddenly, the violet drake slammed his paws into the ground, causing the ground to shake violently. As the crowd was distracted trying to maintain their footing, silt-lined crevasses split the earth, running towards Anareta with demonic speed. The red dragoness leapt away from the ruined ground, the whip stemming from her tail dissipating form lack of concentration, and Spyro seized the opportunity. His body glowed with writhing green energy, forming a protective layer across his scales, and as he curled into a ball and slammed into the ground a wave of lime force burst forth from the impact point, scattering earth and grass and snow in every direction. Anareta was caught off-guard by the attack, her emerald eyes wide with shock, teeth bared, but she jumped into the air with a beat of her wings and hovered above the affected area, landing several metres behind her opponent.

Spyro wasted no time in resuming his assault, sprinting towards Anareta's position. As the fire raging around her abated momentarily, Spyro grinned in anticipation and closed in, electricity crackling along his forepaws. What Spyro didn't see, however, was Anareta's own eagre grin, her mane starting to burn stronger and stronger. Inches before Spyro's talons embedded themselves into the vulnerable flesh of Anareta's neck, the fire along her back flare with an intensity to rival the sun, and a grand, advancing field of heat and plasma erupted from her body – a fire fury. The pulse shook the area, the light from the attack giving the entire clearing an eerie, destructive orange radiance. Spheres of flame, writhing upon themselves, rocketed outwards from Anareta's position, now concealed behind a raging pillar of incandescence, and began to hail the field with dregs of burning fire. Many of the onlookers, watching the battle with intensity, had been forced to run as the inferno nearly engulfed them. Cynder raised her wings to shield herself from the heat, taking several steps back, shocked by the power contained within the attack.

When the smoke cleared, Spyro was left lying on the ground on the other side of the arena, amongst a field littered with patches of frozen, burning grass. A bolt of panic rushed down Cynder's spine as she saw the state he was left in. His stone armour was mostly obliterated in the explosion, lying scattered around the clearing in pieces ranging from pebbles to entire segments of the makeshift covering. His body was covered in multiple burns, turning his once-purple scales a thick black, but thankfully beyond his scales he appeared unharmed. Had he not been covered in rock, the damage might have been even worse.

For a moment, everyone was silent. No one spoke as the fire began to dissipate, fading from existence to reveal Anareta, standing warily within a smoking ring of flame. As it too, died down, a look of shock graced her face for a moment as she stared at Spyro's near-motionless body, and Cynder through she could see the unmistakable sheen of fear in her eyes. The onlooking crowd had the same expression – eyes wide, mouths agape – wondering what could happen next.

What came next shocked everyone. With an audible groan, Spyro's body began to shake and move as he heaved himself back to his feet. With a snarl of determination, he face Anareta with shaking limbs and chuckled lowly, his mirth transforming into a grimace of pain as his body was wracked with pain. Nevertheless, the purple dragon stood firm, replying to the fire dragoness' expression of surprise with a cocky, disappointed countenance.

"Is…that all, Ana?" He goaded, shaking his body. Fragments of blackened scales fell from his body, ignored. "Come on, you can do better."

Anareta gulped in worry, before re-affirming her stance and smiling in return, although hesitantly. "Why don't you come a bit closer so I can show you my best?"

Spyro didn't bother retorting with words. In a startling display of ferocity, the purple drake broke into a sprint and rushed towards Anareta. Still disorientated by his miraculous recovery, she was unprepared as Spyro nearly rammed into her chest, parrying his head-butt at the last moment. With continued resolve, Spyro simply turned sharply and continued his assault, refusing to give Anareta any time to recover. With her fury having exhausted her magic, Anareta could do very little to respond, only dancing around the battlefield, dodging the drake's attacks by a hair's breadth.

She was bound to make a mistake, and the instant her hind legs fell upon the cracks opened up in the ground previously in the battle, her balance failing, Spyro seized the situation and charged her with all his strength, slamming his horns into her side and sending her sprawling across the ground with a cry of pain. For all the show and power she had gloriously displayed, all it took was a single, well-placed and powerful blow to take her down.

As Anareta collapsed, clutching her side, the entire crowd erupted into cheers. Spyro stood near the dragoness' flailing form, panting heavily and sneering in apparent hurt. Cynder swiftly ran to his side, offering her shoulder for support as his limbs gave out under him. Her worry had not subsided.

"Dear ancestors Spyro, are you ok?" She asked, her anxiety shaking her voice.

"Yeesh! Spyro, look at those burns!" Sparx joined.

Spyro coughed sharply, but lifted his head and smiled exultantly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing Joyce can't handle."

Cynder sighed in relief, but a small fragment of uneasiness refused to budge. After glancing over his wounds, his blackened scales, she attempted a chuckle but it sounded forced. "You're starting to look like me, you know. With those black scales."

Spyro laughed. "We're thick as thieves, now."

As Joyce rushed over, her face alight with apprehension, she managed a hesitant scowl. "Oh, dear ancestors, are you ok?" She asked worriedly, rapidly examining the black scales. At the touch of a single claw, they began to shatter and fall to the ground, and immediately the arcane dragoness began to fret. "Oh my, these burns are severe. You are quite fortunate that Anareta's attack didn't break your scales."

"I'm fortunate in a lot of aspects," Spyro breathed. "What about Anareta? Is she going to be ok?"

"I'll be…fine," Anareta muttered, pulling herself to her feet. She flashed Spyro a fierce grin, chuckling slightly. "Sorry about your scales. I got a bit ahead of myself."

"Don't worry about it. It made for a good fight."

"Well you've left Joyce with quite the task," Sparx commented, hovering over from between Cynder's horns. He shot a warning glare at Anareta. "And please try not to incinerate my brother. He's a bit rustic, but he's still mine."

Joyce was quiet as she tended to Spyro's burns. Cynder noted that, as she emptied her pack, all red crystals contained within had been used, morphed into a lustreless, dull grey colour, turning to dust as the slightest touch. With surprise evident on her face, the black dragoness watched as the arcane dragon lifted her paws and held them up to the worst of Spyro's wounds, closing her eyes in concentration. A bright cyan radiance emanated from her digits, flowing over the charred plating. An expression of intense calm spread over Spyro's expression as his blackened skin began to re-form and gain their original colouration, the charcoal of his scales disappearing almost completely under the embrace of Joyce's magic. Once the light seceded, Joyce sighed deeply and her shoulders sagged, breathing heavily.

"Joyce, are you ok?" Cynder queried. "What did you do?"

Joyce looked up sheepishly for a moment, before looking away awkwardly. "I…um, healed him."

"So, you're more than just a nurse," Anareta observed, raising an eyebrow. "You're an inborn healer. I'm surprised."

"What do you mean?" Spyro questioned quizzically. "An inborn healer?"

"I'm…I'm an arcane dragon," Joyce began, somewhat hesitantly. As all eyes fell upon her, she noticeably shrunk back into herself, covering her body with her pale blue wings. "Arcane dragons can learn how to heal others without the need for red crystals. The ability has been in my family for several generations now."

"Some arcane lineages have the ability to heal," Anareta expanded. "It's why arcane dragons consider themselves superior, among other things."

"N-not all of us…think that we're superior," Joyce clarified.

"Anyway, I'm kinda beat," Spyro began, thanking Joyce sincerely for her aid as she retreated back into the crowd. "I think I'm gonna sideline the next match. I'd like to-"

"Oh no you don't," Maven interrupted, striding up to the purple dragon's flank and grasping his shoulder. "We still need to go head-to-head. I want to see how far I can kick your sorry behind on the way back to Nubila."

Spyro's exasperated expression was his first answer. "Oh, come on! I've been beaten enough today! Can't I have a break?"

Cynder and Anareta giggled childishly at Spyro's insistence, but Maven would not be denied. As the two took up positions at opposite ends of the field, the two dragonesses retreated to the sidelines where they took comfortable seats next to Nikolai, Belle and Beatrice, who had arrived shortly after Heath's match. The lightning dragoness smiled broadly as they approached, inviting them to take position next to her.

"Enjoying the festivities?" Cynder questioned.

"Quite," she replied, laughing. "You and Spyro are quite the combatants."

"Thank you."

"I'll say," Anareta concurred. She ungracefully spread her body across the ground, stretching her limbs and yawning loudly. Cynder resisted the urge to follow suit, composing herself elegantly and maintaining her exhaustion. "Spyro's a feisty bugger. He's a lot tougher to put down than he looks."

"How's your stomach?" Cynder asked worriedly. "It's not hurting too badly?"

"It'll be fine. Nothing I haven't dealt with before," Anareta replied. "It's par for the course for the _Wolves_, anyway. We handle a lot of tough foes, and we don't always get back to the airship unscathed."

"Where did you learn to fight?" Cynder inquired, putting on a curious tone to allay her suspicions. "You compose yourself on the battlefield with more skill than I'd chalk up to practice. You had to have been taught by a master to learn abilities like that."

Anareta snorted sourly, a quick snarl curling her upper lip before disappearing, as though the topic left a sour taste in her mouth. "Yeah, I had a teacher. Before my dad passed, he taught me everything he knew about fire magic. He was a candidate for the Fire Guardian before your friend Ignitus took the position, although some say it was his heritage that worked against him, rather than his skill or faith. Needless to say, his talents were extensive, and he passed them all down to me before he died."

Cynder raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A candidate for Guardianship, eh? No wonder Maven thinks you'd be an excellent Fire Guardian."

As the battle between the blue-furred cheetah and the purple drake commenced, Anareta turned her head towards Cynder with a tired lethargy that startled her and showed genuine surprise. "Maven thinks I'd be a good Guardian? Flame, I thought I'd never hear praise from her."

Cynder chuckled. "Don't tell her I said that. She'll probably be angry at me."

"Oh, Maven's wrath is a terrible thing to behold," Belle added. She shifted slightly as Nikolai sat down next to her, curling a forest-hued wing around her delicate frame. The dragoness sidled up to his side, nuzzling his next and growing comfortable in his embrace, before continuing. "That is if you find childish tantrums and a hair-trigger temper to be terrible."

"Maven's not so bad once you get past her rustic accent and tendency to yell at anyone she disagrees with," Nikolai complemented, sneering in the cheetah's direction. "But if there's one thing I like about her, it's how she's an excellent combatant."

Beatrice, the ice dragoness standing behind Nikolai, dwarfing even the earth dragon's large girth in her colossal presence, raised her upper lip in a contempt-filled snarl. "Says you. She doesn't have the size to pose a threat."

Nikolai rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Beatrice. No one asked you."

The clang of steel against claws drew the gathered dragons' attention, and Cynder turned her head to see Spyro locked in combat against Maven's armoured form. With her flamberge held out in a vicious cleave, Spyro had just barely managed to block the sharpened edge with his talons, although from his pained grin he sported it wasn't a pleasant experience. Cynder gasped in fear as the lavender dragon was pushed backwards with a hurtful snarl, and her heart's pace increased.

"You're not exactly subtle, you know."

Anareta's voice interrupted her vigil, and the black dragoness threw her fellow a confused expression. Anareta's emerald eyes were fixed on her, and her expression was unreadable.

"What do you mean?"

"With Spyro."

Immediately Cynder felt her cheeks grow hot. For a moment she debated whether or not to deny the claim, but she ultimately decided against it, sighing deeply and looking back towards Spyro.

"I know I'm not," she agreed. "Everyone can see it. Except him, apparently."

"Nope, I'm not listening to this," Sparx interrupted from his position on Cynder's head. "I am _not_ listening to girl talk about my _brother_!" He jammed his fingers into his ears, muttering a song under his breath to block out the noise. The two dragonesses barely gave him a glance before continuing their discussion.

"How long has it been like this?"

"Three years? Ever since we defeated Malefor, I've been a lovestruck fool with not goal except the dragon in front of me."

Anareta hummed in thought. "Why not just ask him? Get it out in the open?"

"And risk my friendship with him?" Cynder countered. "Don't you see how much I rely on his presence? I can't afford to alienate him."

Anareta snorted. "If he doesn't want to talk to you after that, then he's not much of a friend."

"It's still a delicate situation."

"True," Anareta agreed. She fidgeted slightly, tail swaying in structured motion. "But you need to do _something._ You can't just let it go on like this."

Cynder scoffed, flinching slightly as Spyro leapt over Maven's position and delivered a raking slash to her exposed back, shredding leather, skin and fur alike. Blood splattered the moist, ruined ground, and the cheetah responded – after a pained cry – by swinging her shield arm around and clobbering the drake's shoulder. "You don't think I've tried? I can't count the amount of times I've attempted to bring up the issue, but without fail I either lose the nerve and backtrack the conversation, or something conveniently comes along to interrupt us."

"That sounds oddly cliché," Anareta commented, allowing a laugh. "But I suppose I'll humour it. Nevertheless, my statement stands. Being flighty and avoiding the topic is going to hurt you in the long run."

Cynder looked oddly at Anareta. "Speaking from experience?"

There was no shine in Anareta's eye as she responded with a smirk. "Pfft, no. I've had precious few relationships, and none of them overly serious. I suppose that's where we differ."

Cynder dugs her talons into the tundra soil, her body growing still as she prepared her next question. The pang of jealousy arose once more as Anareta's eyes followed the battle in front. With all her social skill, Cynder lathered as much subtext to her question as she thought was possible. "Would you be looking for a serious relationship?"

"What, are you offering?" Anareta joked, her smile persisting. "Sorry, Cyn, I'm a strictly 'opposite' kind of person."

Cynder's silence clued her in, and as Anareta saw the dragoness' serious gaze her jovial mood immediately fell and her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh. You mean…him…Flame, Cynder! Of course not!"

"Are you certain?"

"Cynder, Spyro is many things, but he is _definitely_ not my type," Anareta persisted, her snarl growing indignant. "He's suave, sure, but he's an idiot as well. You just don't see it behind his nice little façade of 'hey, I know what I'm doing!' He's too brazen as well – I don't like men who think they can do anything. The way he's treated you also doesn't help my opinion of him romantically. Really, the only points he has for me is the fact that he's attractive and he's sincere. Flame, I'd be _glad_ if you two got together, if only so you'd stop acting like colossal fools around each other."

The two dragonesses were silent after Anareta's tirade, and for a moment Anareta faltered as Cynder looked away, watching the battle. Her worries were relieved when the jet dragoness sighed deeply, smiling sincerely at the adolescent beside her.

"Thank you, Anareta," she began. "This whole time I've been really anxious about you getting closer and closer to Spyro, but now I don't have to keep worrying."

"Is that why you've been glaring daggers at me lately?" The red dragoness laughed. "Sheesh. Don't worry about it. I'd hate to ruin this burgeoning friendship because of boy troubles."

"I'm touched," Cynder shot back. The relief that coursed through her at that moment was incomparable. "But now that _that_ is out of the way, who do you think is going to win? Maven or Spyro?"

Anareta inhaled sharply, shaking her head in wonder. "I don't know. Spyro's got the advantage in terms of magic and raw physical strength, but Maven's not exhausted and has the advantage of experience, as well as her armour. Speaking of, don't the two of you have sets of armour? I remember some people spreading rumours about you two in shining steel or some other such crap."

"We left them back in Warfang. We were fools and didn't expect too much of a fight," Cynder explained, placing her forehead on her paws in shame. "In retrospect, it would've been a wise idea to bring them along."

"Ah, haste. It's the bane of youth."

Below the harried cries and cheers of the crowd as they shouted encouragement to their favoured competitor, Cynder could hear the slow _tap tap tap_ of a portly figure crossing the wet, icy ground. Her eyes darted to the left to see Mason, curled up in a thick fur coat that was far too large for him, approaching with cautious speed. His eyes were planted firmly on the crimson-scaled dragoness next to her, and from his glare of loathing Cynder knew what to expect next, and her body tensed.

"Cynder, there you are. I'm glad I found someone of authority," Mason began, gesturing to the crowd and the combat. "I was intensely worried about the sounds coming from here, so I decided to visit." The aged mole shook his head in disappointment. "A brilliant waste of the _Wolves'_ time, I would think. They have a job to do and they spend their time throwing swords at each other? I'd heard better things from such a prestigious company."

"Hey now," Anareta interrupted. "We're still doing our job, mole rat. The hydra hasn't been spotted since yesterday, and if it did decide to pop in for another visit I think having our swords out and at the ready is a _good_ thing."

Mason and Anareta locked eyes and Cynder inhaled sharply, acutely aware of the invisible sparks burning between them. Mason's one eye, the other being covered by his peculiar telescopic monocle, shimmered in barely-restrained dislike, whereas Anareta's own expression displayed her indignance in all its terrifying glory.

_Why,_ Cynder thought in fury. _Why does Mason of all people have to think that way?_

"Young lady, I'd be careful what language you use around the one handling your paycheck," Mason countered. Anareta sneered.

"We're hired by the Guardians, not you."

"And I am the one whom the Guardians have entrusted the financial matters of this endeavour," Mason retorted, earning a hateful muttering from the dragoness. "While it may have been their decision to hire you, I am the one responsible for managing you. Do keep that in mind, _Vulcan._"

That word cut Anareta deep. She visibly recoiled, pulling her tail around her body and letting loose an audible growl. Belle, who had been listening from the moment Mason criticised her band of fellows, extended a wing around Anareta's frame, warily glaring at the mole, but the red dragoness shrugged off her condolences and rose to her feet, utilising her considerable height advantage over the mammalian. Unperturbed, Mason simply lifted his gaze and met Anareta's emerald eyes with his own stern, uncompromising gaze.

"Screw this," Anareta spat, her tongue faltering on the first word, as though holding back more colourful language. "I'm out of here. If you want me, I'll be in my cabin on the _Destiny_."

"Ouch," Sparx muttered, scratching his head.

As Anareta disappeared into the crowd, out of sight, Cynder swivelled and shot Mason a furious scowl. "What in the name of the ancestors was _that_ for, Mason?"

"I simply spoke my mind," the mole countered, pulling his cloak tighter around his diminutive frame. "Is there aught amiss with that?"

Cynder placed a paw over her forehead and sighed in frustration. "Mason, I thought that you of all people would be above such petty grievances. What cause do you have to quarrel with the Vulcan? From what I can tell, she isn't even affiliated with them!"

"Unlike most, my dislike of their kind comes from experience, not simple social stigma. You weren't there during the war-"

"Yes, I was, actually," Cynder refuted. "Everyone just forgets that I was on the other side for most of it. Mason, from what I saw, the Vulcan were incredibly honourable. Don't you dare say they're lying thieves and anarchists, because I know that's not true. You might be traditional, but I know you're smart enough to not judge someone based on a four-millennium old myth."

Mason bristled, scowling and refusing to make eye contact with Cynder. He kept his gaze at the finished spar, where Spyro stood weakly over the unconscious body of Maven, the blue-furred cheetah refusing to relent while she was still standing. Spyro himself looked no better, only standing instead of lying on the ground in fatigue. The poor boy was exhausted.

"I apologise," Mason spoke, earning a cagy expression from the jet dragoness. "My mood is beget from grim news. Three of our labourers have gone missing since yesterday, and I fear the wildlife has reached them before we. I'll give the Vulcan a chance. But I warn you to be careful around her. Her kind has a way of…subverting your hopes."

The stocky mole waddled off into the distance. Despite his sobering words, the adolescent dragoness found it difficult to take Mason seriously with his awkward stance and even worse gait. How he was head of Warfang's Guard, she'd never know.

"A pity," Belle spoke, her face morose. Nikolai placed his jaw on her head, keeping a wing around her to comfort the electrical dragoness. "When people judge so quickly. You aren't the only one facing discrimination these days."

"Mmm," was Cynder's only reply. "It is a pity."

"Sorry, but," Nikolai interrupted, his voice awkward. "What did you mean by, 'four-millennium old myth'? I don't think I'm familiar with whatever it was you were talking about."

"I take it you're aware of The Nameless, correct? And the story of the founding of the Four Nations?" Cynder began, adjusting her position on the ground to face the two older dragons. "How he united the warring dragonclans? The four largest dragonclans were given rulership of the four nations – the Thanatos appropriated the south, the Erini took the west, the Toruk claimed the east and the Vulcan demanded the north. For over a century there was peace, although the rise of Nagon did unsettle things for a while. At the end of-"

"Nagon?" Sparx asked dumbly.

"Nagon was the second purple dragon, and he waged war against the Four Nations and the Nameless," Cynder clarified. "His tale was pinned as a fable by most, although Malefor's rise bought more scrutiny to his story."

"Barely a decade after Nagon's defeat, the north began to grow restless. The Vulcan had always been a proud people, and their assimilation into the Nameless' bargain had been forced, not voluntary. The Nascent Age ended upon the Vulcan's rebellion, beginning with the murder of The Nameless and the invasion of the other four nations. That was the start of the Fire Age. Ultimately, the Vulcan were put down by the next purple dragon and banished to what is now known as the Burned Lands. Before Malefor scorched the place, it was known as the Tainted Plains."

"That was four-millennium ago?" Nikolai questioned, dumbstruck. "Man, people sure hold grudges."

Cynder snorted. "Yeah, I know _that_ almost too well, although I don't have the excuse of time to explain it."

"Nobody here holds any enmity towards you, Cynder," Belle soothed, smiling warmly. "You are safe."

"For the moment."

- ҉ -

Night had fallen. The tundra was a pitch-black surface of ice, dying grass and soggy soil, stretching out into the distance between two lanes of jagged, mountainous teeth, bases covered in a green moss of pine trees and stony outcrops. A midnight-blue scaled drake, paws still covered in dried, caked blood from the day previous, sat atop one such outcrop, gazing out at the camp below, illuminated by red, burning torches held amongst the winding maze of tents with fearful, dangerous eyes, the colour of the ocean.

Snow had begun to fall once more, the blackened clouds concealing the stars. The snowflakes were black in the darkness of the night, streaks of oil darting from the heavens. Irres dug his talons into the rock beneath him, narrowing his eyes in disbelief, maintaining his vigil of the campsite below. His wings were held close to his body, the black wing scales concealing the flickering markings, following his rapid thoughts. His tail hung limply over the edge of the stone platform, all but forgotten in his introspection.

A flare of burning, orange light and the crackling of fire broke his train of thought, but the familiarity of the sound failed to click his instinctual response.

"Father," he greeted warmly, although he failed to face the robed figure behind him.

"What have you learned?" Dyan asked, kneeling next to his draconic son. Irres noted that a small fragment of a purple gem rested in his armoured hand, crackling with a malicious, violet energy. Its very presence sent ice down his spine, and he felt the twin magic hosted within his body begin to vibrate and rebel in response, but he ignored the sensation.

"There are a numerous number of mercenaries escorting them," he replied. "All are talented, and equipped soundly. However, construction is not to begin for several more days."

Dyan hummed in though, his golden, reptilian eyes fixed upon the encampment. "Has anything of interest occurred beyond that?"

Irres swallowed nervously, but it was an anxiety born of concern rather than shame or guilt. "A group of three labourers exited the encampment to explore, and approached our home, and thus I was forced to silence them. The leavings are hidden, although I can not account for any whom may be searching for them within the encampment itself."

"Well done," Dyan applauded, and Irres found a proud heat blossoming in his chest. "You handled the situation perfectly. However, that will pique their interest in the surrounding area. We must be prepared to act accordingly."

"Are we to finally begin?" Irres questioned eagerly. A smile split his snout.

"Unfortunately, yes," Dyan confirmed, sighing deeply. "I would prefer more time to prepare, to ascertain all the triggers are in place and are still willing to aid us, but alas certain parties are urging me to begin before schedule."

Irres' eyes widened in excitement, and he faced the tent city with renewed vigour. His heart was racing, his body shaking in anticipation, his smile turning into a grin, exposing his serrated teeth. His grip on the stone beneath him only tightened. Dyan's eye widened at the response, as though raising an eyebrow, and his mood grew morose.

"Your part to play is an important one, Irres," he forewarned, examining the crystal in his armoured hand. "I hope the training I have given you will not go to waste."

"Do not fear, father," Irres responded. "I will not fail you."


	10. Chapter 6 - Harbinger of Chaos

Holy dragons Batman! It's a long one!

Sorry for the long wait - Trial HSC papers and studying kept my schedule busy, and post-Trial assignments took up most of my time following it, including an eight thousand word narrative piece I had to tweak in order for it to be perfect. Nothing' in my line of sight until the actual HSC papers though, so I might be able to squeeze another chapter in before then if I'm lucky and disciplined enough.

To be honest, I'm pleasantly surprised to see the pageviews this is getting despite the inactivity, even if it's only about ten per day. It's nice to know people visit every now and then to see if it's updated!

Also, I smacked 100,000 words. HUZZAH.

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Harbinger of Chaos

Ignitus gazed into the seeing pool, the sapphire water glittering in the soft, glowing light of the cyan room. Images shifted and swayed in the viscous liquid, showing the Chronicler all the secrets of the world outside, all the treasures and glories that he, in his age-long servitude, was forbidden. Cities passed through his sight, swaying oceans and endless skies, forests mingled with marshes, tundras scarred by snow, mountains clawing at clouds, barren wastelands seared by burning magma and scathing winds. Floating islands drifted through crags of white cloud, traversing the world entire. Wyverns and dreadwings perched atop a broken tower in the middle of a vast, golden forest; leaves turned a brazen bronze in the embrace of autumn. An airship soared above the sullied scar of a land burnt by magma, the funnel-shape volcano in the distance obscuring the pale blue sky with a layer of black, bitter smoke. A serpent – colossal in its girth and even greater in length – swam through the cobalt oceans of the seas beyond the world to the west, shards of light illuminating the creature's scaled exterior. Venom-green skeletons in the shape of primates danced in a cavernous chasm, leaping across the raging water and chittering with phantasmic skeletal teeth, incomprehensible to all but the remnants of their own kind. Beasts clothed in thick, foreign hide, larger than dragons, stalked the crags of the northern continent, hunting for food in the wastelands beyond, driven mad by emaciation and hunger. Strange, unknown beings like fleshly, organic spiders skulked in rotten, filth-ridden city sewers, spawning their progeny through the violent deaths of others. Constructs of stone, timber and molten rock barked and snapped at their creator, wielder of magic most foreign, awaiting the day their services were needed once more.

It was a world entire, seething with the urge to live, with the desire to exist, with the will to continue. A world with secrets innumerable, willing to impart them to the determined. A world lacking in mercy and compassion, but brimming with sensations and experiences to be matched by nothing else.

And Ignitus, the aged Chronicler, could no longer experience them.

It saddened the elder, to be barred from the world he was tasked with chronicling. He missed the gentle caress of the northwest wind on his scales, the first sign of winter – he longed for the warm embrace of the sun to envelop his wings once again – he wished for the simple sight of his surrogate son, to view his lilac scales, undistorted by the waters of the seeing pool. Cynder, too, he wished to see, to apologise, to assure her everything would be alright, and that the world she had spent so long destroying truly did care for her, despite the machinations of others.

But no, Ignitus was forbidden. There was naught he could do to see his adoptive children, except pray for the swift demise of this new age.

Nothing the Chronicler could do would ease his mind, the tempest of unease that assaulted his thoughts. He knew of the storm about to descend upon the Realms greater than any other that currently walked its span, and yet warning it he had too been forbidden from. The caretakers of the Realms, the two he saw as his own flesh and blood, were left to their own devices, and were to rely on their own initiative to solve this dilemma.

_I hope they can do it,_ Ignitus thought. _For I do not know if I could. Not again._

Three years had been such a short span, and it had resolved nothing. Three years since the blight known as Malefor had been silenced, his corruption cleansed from the world. Despite the peace offered to the duo, Spyro and Cynder had never been more strained. Despite Ignitus' best wishes, the two, regardless of the unbreakable strength of their friendship, were still separated by a cleft borne of mixed affection that neither party was willing to risk repairing. To them, oblivious as to their partner's thoughts, they could not hazard the possibility of failure and the consequences that it entailed, ignorant to the fact that a partnership was everything they ever wanted. Ignitus didn't need the books to tell him the obvious – he simply prayed, prayed to his ancestors, to his master, that the two would see what was right in front of them before it was too late. Time was in precious short supply, for all the irony that statement held.

And with the thought of _him_ burgeoning in his mind, Ignitus inclined his head towards the seeing pool, focusing its energies into a single being, scouring the Realms for his presence. Images flashed on the surface of the water, flickering between every possible locale in the world – every colour, every corner of the spectrum, flickered before Ignitus' eyes, and then…

…nothing.

The pool was blank. The surface of the liquid was blue, azure, the same as any other water. No vision was perceptible on its surface other than that which it reflected. Ignitus rose from his seated position with a start, staring into the stone-still surface of the seeing pool with an expression of shock. The omniscience granted by his master was uncompromising, unyielding – with the aid of the mystic water of the seeing pool to envision his thoughts, Ignitus' gaze stretched the span of the Realms, from the distant wastes of the north to the raging seas of the south, from the darkest catacombs beneath the surface to the edges of the sky scraping the void beyond. Nothing was hidden from his sight.

_Nothing…except what is right in front of me._

With a heavy sigh, an exhaled breath thick with anger, frustration and discontentment, Ignitus turned his gaze away from the pool of water and towards the bookshelves on the other side of the room, filled to the brim with dusted tomes and manuscripts. Atop the shelf with a furnished book sitting open on his lap, eyes focused on the words contained within, Dyan sat with idle intent, barely lifting his head to greet the Chronicler as he finally recognised his presence.

"Ignitus," was his first word, the name floating along his voice for a moment, like a whisper from a bygone era. Leaving the chronicle left open on the folds of his robe, Dyan leant forward and locked his gold, alien eyes with the old Guardian's fiery orange orbs, unspoken grievances filling the air around them.

Memories flooded Ignitus' mind, memories of pain and loss, of heroism and courage, of doubt and anxiety, betrayal and fortitude, unspoken confessions and blood and fear. Memories long locked within the safe confines of the elderly drake's mind burst forth with abandon, bestirring emotions once thought lost to time. Anger. Fear. Love. Hurt. Hesitation. Serenity. Hatred. Sadness. Despair. Everything swarmed Ignitus' mind before he could compose himself, and he bent his neck and faced the smooth, unbroken stone floor as his body quivered in overwhelming sentiment. Tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving tiny dark spots where they struck the floor, and with incredible will the elderly drake lifted his head to stare at Dyan, his emotions hidden as swiftly as they had appeared. Dyan said nothing, simply awaiting his reaction, his clawed hand gripping the timber bookshelf tightly, the wood groaning beneath the pressure.

"_Dyan_," Ignitus spat with such unrelenting rage to be uncharacteristic of the old drake. "And so you finally reveal yourself to me. Have you enjoyed your time, toying with the world as you have? Seeing what and who you can poke and prod to make the world collapse? Or has your time been spent more wisely?"

"I doubt you've left me unattended ever since you became Chronicler," Dyan replied, the very faintest hints of a smile forming beneath the darkness of his orange hood. "To think, that you of all people would be tasked as this world's librarian. It truly is shocking. She must have taken a liking to you more than I suspected."

Ignitus snorted. "The term 'she' is inaccurate for one such as they, I would fathom."

"She acts like a woman. Behaves like a woman. Talks like a woman. What else would I refer to her as? She does not refute the terms."

"I simply don't believe descriptors such as 'male' and 'female' are entirely accurate for one like them," Ignitus amended. "The only mortal they seem to care about is me, and I do not enjoy the attention."

"Tell me, Ignitus," Dyan continued, folding the book and placing it on the seat beside him. He leapt from his position, landing heavily on the stone floor with a loud, metallic _clang_, quickly dusting himself off and gesturing to the seeing pool in the centre of the amphitheatre. "What did you feel when you realised how the world worked? What soul-crushing development did you undergo upon the revelation that everything you ever believed in was a lie? A grand, all-compromising fabrication? Did you weep? Did you deny it, at first? Or did you embrace it openly?"

Anger writhed in Ignitus' gut once more and as he turned towards the seeing pool, banishing it with a wave of his cyan-membrane wing, he forced himself to suppress a snarl of loathing towards the foreigner. His talons dug into the cold stone as the pool of water vanished, and instead a bright, azure point of light descended from the ceiling, splintering into millions of fragments and scattering across the room, connected by lines of white. The Chronicler gestured to the scarlet tarantula that encompassed over two thirds of the life-map, his voice hostile.

"I had no choice but to accept it," he replied at length. "What was more difficult, however, was being shown just how far your influence of madness has spread across the Realms."

Dyan didn't reply. As Ignitus watched him, the man merely strode over to another bookshelf, spent several minutes browsing its collection, before selecting a tome of interest and pulling it from its resting place. For any other dragon, it may have been an awkward pause in the conversation, but for the Chronicler, time meant very little. He waited patiently, if angrily, for Dyan to find another place to rest, before continuing.

"And yet, here you are, planning to do it all again," he snarled. "How many more lives will be lost because of you? How many others with suffer because of your, as you worded it, _necessity_?"

Dyan chuckled lowly, his voice dark and grim. "You understate my value, former Guardian," Dyan replied, fingering the edges of the parchment. The paper rustled and crackled under his hand, causing the Chronicler to wince habitually. The books should not be handled so unconcernedly. "My worth will be made clear, in time. You shall see."

"I doubt that."

Silence fell upon the two figures, the only sound piercing the shroud of quiet being the _scrape_ of paper as Dyan turned page after page and the low, audible hum of the life-map as it emanated light. Ignitus gazed at the life-map, watching its twists and turns, making out constellations among the souls of the Realms, and his eyes fell upon a group of inordinately bright pinpricks after some minutes of wandering. Coated in thick crimson, not a single light was on its intended course, set awry by the interruption of fate. Ignitus squeezed his eyes shut as he watched the lights of his three fellow Guardians, his three closest, most precious friends, memories flooding back. He forced his mind to uphold the mental block, for his sake and Dyan's. He saw another light, burning slightly less bright, set across the room on the edges of the constellation. There was a line, ever so faint, ever so thin, stretching back into the other cluster of stars, and Ignitus winced.

She was still alive.

Dyan must have seen where his eyes wandered, for he cleared his throat and gestured to the pinprick of light. "You miss her." It was more a statement than a question, but Ignitus didn't care as he snarled. But his hostility was strained, held back by a hint of regret in his voice.

"Of course I do."

"Have you ever considered contacting her? Or any of your friends?" Dyan queried, refocusing his eyes on the book in his hands as he spoke. "Surely the thought has occurred since you were bound to this place."

"There were urges," the Chronicler replied, his voice sullen. His eyes gazed wistfully at the collection of stars representing his friends, his surrogate children, progeny for him to guide where circumstance left him without offspring of blood. "At first, I rationalised it by citing my predecessor's actions during the War, but according to them, he contacted the young lad on their decree. Even then, I was tempted to disobey, but in the end logic dictated otherwise."

Dyan shook his head, leather hood swaying with movement. "A pity. How has she been faring the past few years?"

"You mean since you murdered her mate, and one of my closest friends?" Ignitus challenged harshly. Dyan seemed unperturbed.

"It was not murder," he rationalised. "His death was valorous, and his cause noble. I killed him as he stood in my way. Nothing more."

Ignitus knew not how to respond to that. He simply stood, watching Dyan's every move with reddened irises. The man stood near the edge of the room, resting his robed body against the stone walls, covered in runic symbols. One of the tomes was still in his hand, its contents violated and stolen by the ravenous gaze of his golden eyes, and when Ignitus recognised the name on the leather-bound cover of the manuscript he froze, eyes wide in shock. Written in unnaturally immaculate diction, in golden inscription, was the name _Spyro_.

"What are you doing, Dyan?" Ignitus challenged.

"I am doing what I could not do for you," he responded simply, confounding the Chronicler even further. "If I am to set an exam, I must know my students. There is little purpose in questions pertaining to history when the challenge is one of philosophy."

"You needed no such assistance for us."

"I had a far better opportunity to know you personally, however," Dyan countered, eyes still firmly planted on Spyro's book, absorbing the knowledge within. "With the purple dragon and his friends, I have had no such chance. I have been setting the stage, instead."

"And I dare to assume that the boy you've commandeered is to play a leading role, no?" The Chronicler questioned sharply. Dyan chuckled.

"Oh yes," he replied, mirth apparent. "The hollow vessel in the form of the Favoured is to be the most difficult question. I have many expectations as to how Spyro shall deal with him."

"He does not know?"

"Irres is intelligent enough to realise I am not his father by birth," Dyan explained, looking up for the first time and locking eyes with Ignitus. "His faith and loyalty in me is strong, however. I look forward to seeing how that trust is tested, both between me and Spyro."

The Chronicler snorted in grim humour. "What of the girl? Your huntress? She will not be pleased to learn you have been conditioning her as much as her father did, in her youth."

"Indeed…the girl is quite the interesting toy to play with." The man chuckled, closing the book and placing it back onto its shelf, amongst others of its kind. "Of course, she also presents herself as a wildcard to my machinations. I know not whether her actions will contribute to the end goal of my plans, or shred them apart." Dyan was untroubled by the possibility, his mirth remaining. "I believe that she, in her youth and rashness, will prove to be the defining element of their trials."

Ignitus was silent for a moment, the protective instincts buried deep within his mind beginning to stir. "Dyan," he began, his voice pleading – almost begging. "Don't hurt him. Please. Don't hurt Spyro, or Cynder. They have been through enough already."

"You know I cannot do that."

A great sigh escaped the Chronicler, and his body sagged in defeat. His cyan wings fell to the floor, his tail was limp, and an immense feeling of crushing despair threatened to overwhelm him, but the former Guardian did his best to ward off the feeling of hopelessness – if there was but a single thing that becoming the Chronicler had opened his eyes to that he could fix, it was his inborn flaw of being unable to control his emotions. Over the past three years, he had done his best to fix this – and being along on the White Isle gave him plenty of solitude in order to try.

"Then…for your sake…for all our sakes…" Ignitus began, voice trembling. "I hope you succeed."

Dyan was silent for a moment. "As do I, Ignitus."

Without ceremony, the robed biped burst into flame, his body disappearing in a flash of orange light. Startled by the sound, Ignitus could only stare at the charred stone floor where Dyan had been standing only seconds before, warning bells ringing in his mind – fire, the books, safety – but his thundering heart quickly calmed as he realised no damage had been done. Dyan had simply teleported, as was his way.

But the Chronicler's fear never abated. He clenched his teeth, banished the constellations of the life-map, and gazed into the seeing pool once more, searching for the tell-tale lilac scales of his proxy son.

- ҉ -

Anareta was pacing, back and forth along the walls of the massive gathering hall within the belly of the airship, _Destiny_. While no windows garnered a view of the weather outside, the Vulcan needed no visual affirmation to know that a powerful blizzard was raging just outside the zeppelin, judging from the haunting howls and echoes and the rattling of the wooden supports. Unlike the rest of her motley company, who were gathered throughout the hall in their own small little cliques, chatting away the day with humour and jests, Anareta was irate at the loss of her plans.

_Why did the storm have to strike today of all days?_ She fumed, sharpened talons digging into the wooden floor, leaving darkened strokes along the expensive timber. _He's here. I can almost feel it in the air._

Two days had passed since the massive sparring session between the _Wolves_ and Spyro and Cynder, the two mascots of this expedition. The previous days had been dull, patrolling the outskirts of the camp for signs of the missing labourers, escorting the Guardians to and fro, practicing her elements against other members of her esteemed company, but while the dragoness would have been complaining about the lack of activity at any other time, the girl's mind had been buzzing with activity. A mix of emotions were wrestling throughout her mind – guilt, determination, resolve, shame, loathing, joy, pride – but for the sake of her mission she had attempted to put them aside, with little luck.

"Anareta," an unmistakable, measured voice cut through Anareta's thoughts. "If you are restless, why don't you go and see what Spyro and Cynder are doing? I'm sure they would enjoy your company, if no one else."

Without pausing her endless pacing, Anareta's head shot up and glared at Chase's thin, yet muscular form, his facial fur trimmed and jaw defined enough as to conceal his true age. Despite his words, Anareta could still see the restlessness in his limbs, from the way his leg twitched to the slow _tap tap_ of his claws against the wooden surface. He was sitting on a chair, leaning his back against the massive table. Next to him sat Beatrice, resting on the wooden floor and still dwarfing the cheetah despite his higher vantage point. In stark comparison to Chase, Beatrice was calm and unperturbed by the lack of activity, throwing Anareta a friendly nod.

"They're in their own room," Anareta replied irreverently, referring to the cabin the two adolescents had accommodated on the _Destiny_ for the duration of the expedition. Vates had offered it to them when it became apparent that they had such a strong connection with his employees, and the two had graciously accepted. Coincidentally, it was right next to the room that Anareta shared with Maven, Belle and Beatrice. "Don't want to disturb them."

Beatrice offered a short, snorting chuckle, winking suggestively at the Vulcan. "Afraid you'll walk in on them, hmm?"

"Very funny."

Oh, yes. Spyro and Cynder. Anareta had been mulling those two over for quite some time now, and she was hard-pressed to form an opinion on either of them. Spyro was funny, suave, charismatic – pretty much what everyone wanted in a celebrity, or a figurehead. Anareta felt no shame to admit that he was a fun guy to be around, and he had the trappings of a good friend, but the Vulcan also felt that his personality was a bit too cocky, too brazen. As for Cynder, Anareta didn't know what to think – there was a desperate vibe from her, a need for the purple drake that bordered on the obsessive, but at the same time there was an element of kinship towards the black dragoness that Anareta couldn't ignore. The past two days had been filled with friendly conversation with her, and Anareta had quickly found that she spent more time with Cynder than with Spyro, a fact that surprised her. Upon first hearing that Spyro and Cynder, Saviours of the Realms, would be joining the expedition that the _Wolves_ had been hired for, Anareta immediately thought that Spyro would be a potential ally in her hunt, in lieu of his famed selflessness – which, by the way, was still a strong possibility – but she hadn't spared a thought at all for the black dragoness, the drake's shadow and partner who, in retrospect, probably had a lot more experience than the purple dragon.

If only the blizzard hadn't struck today, Anareta would've had the perfect opportunity to ask the two of them before departing.

In a fit of frustration, Anareta turned towards Heath, sitting somewhere further down the table and chatting with Nikolai, and yelled "Hey! Heath! Where the hell is Vates? We've been waiting for over half an hour now!"

Heath, black fur bristling, turned and gazed at Anareta in impatience. "He was with Kazuto and the Guardians earlier, discussing something about the missing labourers, I believe. He'll be up here soon to address us, don't worry."

Ah, the missing labourers, right. Another tell-tale sign of his presence. It was as if he was painting the streets with directions to his hiding place, like he wanted to be found. To be honest, Anareta thought he _did_ want to be found, considering what he'd put her through so far.

"What do you think we'll be doing today, with the blizzard raging?"

Heath shrugged. "I'm not certain."

With a heavy sighed and a flick of her head, Anareta pulled a chair out from underneath the table and sat, the ornately-carved furniture curving to her body, fashioned for dragonkind. For over twenty minutes she sat, waiting impatiently for Vates to ascend the twisting staircase, clawing at the chair she sat on despite the glares The Tinkerer shot her, ignoring the rest of the crew. Maven, sitting and laughing with Saleh, Cutler and Belle, looked at her pensively and offered a seat next to her, but the Vulcan shook her head and smiled gratefully before resuming her inward pondering. Thankfully, she didn't need to wait for much longer, as the barely-audible sounds of claws on wood broke through her trance of thought and she lifted her head to see the crimson-robed figure of Vates appear at the entrance to the staircase.

What she didn't expect, however, was to see not only Kazuto beside him, dressed in his odd, foreign armour, but also the unmistakable lavender-scaled, bulky figure of Spyro and the jet-scaled, slender and curvaceous frame of Cynder standing by his side. As the two noticed her, they both lifted their wings in greeting, and Anareta replied in kind, a strange warmth spreading throughout her body. It was a bizarre feeling to have friends again, especially those that offered such promise.

With a loud cough to clear his throat, the entire room fell silent, realising who had just entered. Groups of friends dispersed as they gathered around Vates and Kazuto, forming a rough semicircle of scales, fur and clothing. Anareta was pushed up against the panting Cutler on one side, and the compost-scented Nikolai on the other. As his scales rubbed against her shoulder invasively, she hissed and knocked the drake with her wing.

"Watch it," she murmured.

"Speak for yourself," Nikolai replied, before the two fell silent.

"Everyone!" Vates shouted, commanding the silence of everyone in the room. Even Spyro and Cynder, standing by his side, jumped slightly at the ferocity of his voice, and Anareta couldn't help but hide a smile. "I understand you are restless. The past several days have been quiet and uneventful, and I'm certain you are all eager for action."

A low, rumbling mutter of agreement travelled through the group as Vates paused, before the elder cheetah continued.

"I'm afraid your reverie has ended, however," he explained sarcastically, smiling in turn as he noted the grins that spread across his employees at his words. "Today, we have business to attend to. Our tasks are twofold – one group shall be led by Kazuto and I to hunt down the hydra that our dear friends Anareta and Maven let escape-" there was a chorus of boos and shouts directed at the two, but both mercenaries took the blame in stride. "-and the others will remain here near the campsite, to assist our venerable associate Mason and our two celebrities, Spyro and Cynder, search for the missing labourers who disappeared three days ago."

There was markedly less interest in the latter option Vates described, although from the expression in his eyes he had expected such a response. "Although I have a strong sense that you would all prefer to join us on the hunting expedition, keep in mind that, if something terrible did happen to befall the labourers who have disappeared, Mason and I would much prefer to have strong, capable, independent warriors guarding the search party, rather than simply relying on Spyro and Cynder for protection."

Cynder bristled at the remark, shooting Vates a lopsided glare, but Spyro merely chuckled under his breath. Anareta pushed her head forward and saw several mercenaries, key among them being Maven, Cutler, Beatrice and Nikolai, grow indignant at their boss's challenge, and she knew what decision they would make. As for the Vulcan, she already knew what choice would give her the best chance of encountering him.

"So we'll be going with Cynder? A-and Spyro?" Silvester asked to Anareta's left. Dwarfed by his much larger older brother, the petit wind drake had an expression of excitement matched only by young boys about to ask their crush on a date. Nikolai just chuckled.

"If we get a place, yes," the earth drake replied. Silvester's reaction was more excitable than expected, as he jumped up and down, jittering with enthusiasm.

"Now, you may not get your decided party," Vates explained. "But come forth once you have made your decision and inform me. I need numbers quickly, so make up your minds."

Before Anareta had the chance to approach her commander, the crowd suddenly congregated around the cheetah, blocking her from approaching. There was a loud clamouring as voices echoed throughout the hall, all attempting to be heard, and for a moment the dragoness was stunned by the sheer speed with which Nikolai and Cutler deserted her. Vates disappeared behind a wall of scales, hide and fur, a bastion impenetrable by the fire dragon. She sighed, accepting her elected position as last to decide which party she was to join.

_I suppose that comes with being the newbie, h-uh?_ She pondered, watching as Maven tried to wrestle her way through the wall of people, only to be knocked back by Beatrice's tail. _Let's just hope Vates lets me join the hunting party…_

"Give it a few moments," a voice emanated beside the dragoness, causing her to jump slightly. Her head swerved with remarkable speed to see The Tinkerer sitting beside her. "The crowd will disperse and you can talk with Vates. It happens all the time."

Anareta snorted. "I'm the new guy," she mentioned disdainfully. "I kind of expected this."

The Tinkerer laughed, a deep, chortling laugh that betrayed his age. "Ah, don't look forward to the future then. It'll be no different. Even long-standing members still need to fight tooth and nail to get the first pickings. Only the founding members are allowed any semblance of advantage, and only because they can threaten you with substance."

"Riveting story," Anareta replied, a slight shard of guilt impaling her gut. "What about you? You staying behind?"

"Aye. The _Destiny_ needs some work on her engines, and Nikolai wanted some alterations made to his wing plates, so my day is kept busy. What of you? Decided where you'll be spending the day?"

The Vulcan shrugged. The group swarming Vates had thinned somewhat, and she could see crimson cloth in the gaps between wings and arms. She wasn't exactly willing to talk with the old smith beside her. "Dunno."

After a moment of silence, during which Anareta avoided the Tinkerer's questioning gaze, the mole slapped her on the shoulder roughly and gestured to the commander, who was now visible through the thinning crowd. Some members of the _Wolves_ seemed to have left his vicinity, wandering around the hall and pondering their decision.

"If you wish to speak with Vates, now would be the ideal time," The Tinkerer mentioned, before turning towards the staircase that lead deeper into the zeppelin. "I have business to attend to. If you need me, I shall be in the armoury."

Ignoring the mole as he wandered away, Anareta took advantage of the pause in the crowd to stride over to Vates' side. The cerulean-furred cheetah noticed her approach and paused his conversation with Kazuto, raising a hand in greeting to the young dragoness. Spyro and Cynder had left to speak with the other _Wolves_ someway further down the hall.

"Ah, Anareta, I was waiting for you," Vates began, adjusting his collar. "Have you made your choice?"

"Of course I have," she replied, flashing a grin. Immediately feeling self-conscious, Anareta dropped her smile to conceal her large upper fang, but Vates didn't seem to notice. "Mind if I join the hunting party? I'd like to finish off that hydra once and for all. The scaly bugger didn't even get a full taste of what I can do."

Although a brief flicker of amusement passed over Vates' face, mirrored by Kazuto's glower of disapproval, the cheetah shook his head and gestured towards Spyro and Cynder, who were conversing with Maven and Heath next to the table. "I would rather you not. At this rate, no one will be left behind to keep the purple one company. I want you to stay and join the search for the missing labourers."

A lightning bolt ran down Anareta's spine at Vates' words, and she snarled in sudden anger. "What? Why! Why am I delegated to a glorified escort?"

"On my orders, that's why," Vates replied, grinning in triumph. Before Anareta could protest further, however, he held up his hand to silence her and continued. "You may have performed admirably against the hydra earlier this week, but you've still yet to inure yourself to our lifestyle. Until then, you need to learn humility." He ignored the Vulcan's hurt pride. "In any event, the others are all eager to whet their blades, and I must meet their demands. Belle, Chase, Nikolai, Silvester and Saleh will be joining you in the search, so you'll not be alone. Besides, I'm certain you'll enjoy the time with Spyro and Cynder."

"Great," Anareta spat, growling slightly. Her mane flickered slightly in the change of mood. Kazuto, standing next to Vates and looking quite diminutive in comparison to the enormous cheetah, scowled.

"You ought to learn respect, girl," he challenged. "It is unbecoming for you to be so rebellious."

"Can it, windweller," Anareta responded sharply, although the mention of Kazuto's heritage was spoken without malice, a trait that was not lost on Vates. "Fine then, Vates. I'll be on escort duty today. If you need me, I'll be acquainting myself with our charges."

As the Vulcan stormed away in rage, Vates couldn't help but watch her progress as she joined the conversation with Spyro, Cynder and Maven. Despite her sudden fury, it seemed to immediately abate upon greeting her two fellow adolescents, and Vates hummed quietly in thought. Next to him, Kazuto observed the Vulcan with a much more measured expression, refusing to conceal his omnipresent dislike.

"I worry about her," Kazuto mentioned, sighing deeply. "You were awfully quick to hire her." It was not a question.

"She shows promise," Vates replied nonchalantly. "Like all newcomers, she needs work, but I believe that will be sorted in time."

"I hope you are right," Kazuto responded.

- ҉ -

"_What the hell are you talking about?" Cynder shouted harshly. Her normally dulcet voice, turned to nails on a chalkboard in anger, grated against Spyro's ears, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than for the dragoness' beautiful voice to return. "You can't be serious!"_

_Spyro shrugged nervously, scratching his neck with the thumb on his wing. "Well, that's what they said. Now that I look back on it, I'm glad Terrador stopped me from doing anything rash and stood in for you, but…"_

"_Levis involved you unnecessarily!" Cynder argued, her turquoise eyes squinted in rage and lips curled back into a snarl. Cynder's ire truly was a sight to behold. "I might've been on the other side of the battle for the entire War, but even I know that what Levis suggested was stretching the law!"_

"_Cynder, please, calm down," Terrador pleaded, rubbing his forehead with a paw. He sat across the garden, resting his haunches on the soft grass and gazing into the fountain centrepiece. The gardens were massive, lavishly cared for from what Spyro could tell, with vines and other plants with bright, colourful, fragrant flowers wrapping around the columns of the garden like delicate green snakes. The grass was luscious and thick, and yellow daisies popped into existence throughout the forest of blades. Spyro and Cynder sat together next to the earth Guardian, their moods strained._

"_No, I won't calm down! How can you just let Levis get away with such a ridiculous claim? She's an ambassador, not a gaoler!"_

"_Cynder!" Terrador shouted, his baritone voice thundering throughout the garden. The dragoness' wrath was immediately quelled, and with shock evident on her face she held her wings close and curled her tail around her body, tilting her head in defeat. Spyro, although equally startled by Terrador's outburst, offered her a wing of comfort that she accepted willingly. "I don't disagree with you, but this is politics. Events are not so simple to understand. Be thankful that the issue was resolved so quickly, without public interest."_

"_I doubt this is the end of the matter," Cynder muttered._

_Spyro sighed, feeling awkward about the entire situation. "Why would Levis try that?" He asked the Guardian, his lilac eyes inquisitive. "What would she gain by implicating me instead of Cynder? And moreover, why wouldn't they listen to my explanation? I can understand a bit of enmity, but Cynder's more than proved herself…"_

"_I don't believe Levis truly cared for Cynder," Terrador began, shifting his body slightly. "If anything, her goal was to dispose of you."_

_Spyro's confusion was only exacerbated by Terrador's explanation. "What do you mean?"_

"_Simply put, the purple dragon wields immense political strength in the courts of Warfang. The intent of this power is to work together with the Ambassadors in order to further the greater good, but the senators of Warfang oft see the birth of a purple dragon as a threat to their power – it presents a wild card, in a sense, to the courts. Malefor's actions have damaged the reputation of the purple dragon enough that Levis wished to eliminate you as a potential influence with all haste, no doubt, although I feel her fears are empty, considering your exploits."_

_The elder sighed, his entire body quaking. "Although, I am quite thankful that it was only Levis who wished to remove you. The other Ambassadors, particularly Garamond and Reed, seemed hesitant to involve you in Cynder's trial, for good reason."_

"_What will become of me, then?" Cynder queried. "I mean, I doubt they'll just stop trying to punish me. I _did_ do a lot of terrible things, after all."_

_Before Spyro could comfort her, Terrador continued. "Fear not, Cynder. The Order of the Guardians has its own influence in the court. I challenged Levis' classification of you as a war criminal, and you are now a ward of the Order of the Guardians. You need not fear any repercussions from the Ambassadors while you remain under our protection."_

"_What do you mean, 'a ward'?" Spyro questioned._

"_In the past, the Guardians often took in delinquents and promising candidates with shady pasts into the Dragon Temple, where we would attempt to communicate and foster the noble spirit within them, saving them from harsh sentences and dark futures," the drake elucidated. "If we were to continue doing this, however, we needed certain power in order to nullify sentences and charges against the offenders in question. The intent of this power was to be used on delinquents responsible for stealing, mugging or victims of assault, orphans and the like. However, the courts that blessed us with that influence failed to specify the exact terms of its use. As such, I was able to utilise it to rescue you from any possible war crimes the Ambassadors would attempt to level with you."_

_Cynder was quiet for a moment as she let all the information soak in. Spyro was somewhat baffled by the explanation, confused by the necessity of such intricacies, but ultimately decided it was a futile endeavour. He kept his orange-membraned wing around Cynder's frame, the scales that rubbed against her back feeling like fire. He enjoyed the contact, the warmth that emanated from her, the sensation of his hips rubbing against hers. Almost instinctively, his tail curled around hers, and for a moment he could have sworn Cynder flinched._

"_S-so…" the dragoness murmured hesitantly, disconcerted by something Spyro couldn't determine. "So what now?"_

_Terrador shrugged, lifting to his feet and stretching his neck. "Now…I'm not certain. For the foreseeable future, you may stay in our quarters until a place can be vacated for you." A small smile split his lips. "Although the Ambassadors may not be thrilled at your return, I'm certain the people are. Worry not for your future, for I am certain everything will turn out for the better."_

"_Maybe you're right," Spyro mumbled. "Thank you, Terrador. You saved me from making a foolish decision."_

"_Likewise," Cynder added. "For saving me. Again."_

_Terrador simply nodded humbly and turned to leave. "You know where our quarters are, if you need me, Cyril or Volteer. Enjoy your time in Warfang, hatchlings – I have a feeling we will be staying for some time, now."_

_As the young dragons lifted their wings in farewell, watching as the earth Guardian disappeared behind the twisting columns and vines of the garden, Spyro and Cynder fell into a comfortable, yet awkward silence. The chatter of birds sitting amongst the branches and the chirping of crickets in the unkempt grass created an ambience of serenity, and Spyro inhaled deeply, savouring the fragrance of the paradise. Cynder felt stiff beside him, despite the wing that was extended in a gesture of comfort, although her nerves slowly seemed to be easing while in the embrace of the garden. Slowly, Spyro felt her shift slightly in his direct, moving into a more comfortable position as she rested her body against his. Spyro gasped sharply but quietly as her obsidian scales brushed against his neck, but he quickly controlled himself._

"_It's nice, isn't it?" Cynder chimed, her voice returning to its melodic tone. It was greater than any music Spyro has ever heard, a symphony of beauty and transcendence, with a note of power tucked within its beats. The dragoness watched the birds flutter amongst the vines, her eyes darting about. "This peace. It's almost surreal."_

"_It's almost alien," Spyro agreed, unable to take his eyes off of Cynder. "I know it's only been three years, but it doesn't feel that long since last we were able to sit down and just talk."_

"_Well, it technically was three years," Cynder clarified. "But I know what you mean. I still don't remember anything about being in that crystal. It feels like just a few weeks ago we were at the Well of Souls, and you…"_

_As Cynder trailed off, hesitant to finish her sentence, Spyro nodded in understanding. "It's ok."_

_Cynder turned to face the purple drake, her turquoise irises locking with Spyro's amaranthine orbs. "What will you do? Will you keep it a secret?"_

"_I think that's safest," Spyro replied, sighing deeply. "I…still don't entirely understand what's going on right now, and after earlier in the courts I'd rather not make any rash decisions. I trust the Guardians, yes, but I don't want word of…that _thing_ circulating. I'm not very familiar with politics or people, but I don't think they'd be any more understanding than they are about you."_

_The dragoness shook her head sadly. "I'd hoped…well, when all was said and done, I'd hoped that your acceptance of me would mean everyone else would. I guess that was a bit too idealistic."_

"_Don't feel so down," Spyro exclaimed, his lips breaking into a wide grin. He nudged Cynder gently with an elbow, eliciting a slight chuckle from the black dragon. "You've still got me, right?"_

_Possibilities hung on the tip of his tongue as Spyro uttered those words, and Cynder's hopeful countenance caused butterflies to start fluttering in his stomach. The dragoness edged slightly closer, gazing into Spyro's lilac irises and for a moment Spyro thought she would lean in and kiss him. Spyro leaned forward, lost in the pools of turquoise that were Cynder's eyes, and time seemed to stop._

_And yet, millimetres before their lips touched, Spyro tilted his neck and pressed his head into Cynder's neck, chuckling lowly. Cynder froze for a moment, shocked by the movement, and silently demanded an explanation. Spyro kept his snout buried in Cynder's neck, unable to contain his soft, chuckling laughter._

"_I still can't believe we're alive."_

_Cynder's body relaxed significantly and the purple drake thought he heard a low sigh emanated from her. A crimson wing extended around his body, bringing him into an embrace, and Spyro returned the gesture likewise. His heart was beating like a hammer on an anvil, the thudding of his chest almost audible. Despite his mirth, the feeling of his snout against Cynder's neck felt like sparks against his scales._

"_Neither can I," Cynder responded, her voice dejected. "I-it's difficult to fathom, really."_

_The loud sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the two infatuated hatchlings, and with a cry of surprise they separated with the speed of a lightning bolt. With their tails fidgeting in embarrassment and wings held by their flanks, they gazed at the newcomer in shock._

_Reed, the scarlet-furred cheetah dressed in a thick cloth tunic with an intricate, silver trim, stood near one of the columns surrounding the trickling fountain and gazed at the two dragons with a mix of surprise and contempt. His sight seemed to entirely disregard the purple dragon – his cerulean glare remained firmly on the black dragoness next to him. His staff was held in his arm, resting against the ground and apparently unneeded to support the cheetah in his youth. Spyro felt a surge of protective instincts overcome him, and with slow movement he rose to his feet and stood defensively over Cynder, watching Reed with caution._

"_Reed," he greeted tersely. "How can we help you?"_

_The Ambassador composed himself, straightening his back and nodding in Spyro's direction. "I have already greeted you, Spyro. I thought the least I could do was to visit the second of our saviours – Cynder."_

_Cynder rose to her feet and met Reed's tough glower with her own. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, Reed, but..."_

"_We've already met," the cheetah finished for her._

_It should have come as a surprise to the purple drake, but for some odd reason Spyro felt no astonishment upon the revelation._

_For a moment, Reed was still, as though examining the dragoness before him. Spyro had no doubt that the Ambassador was comparing the small, young hatchling before him to the great, demonic beast he had seen during the War. The purple drake could almost see the sparks flying between the two. But what surprised Spyro the most, however, was the way Reed's expression seemed to relax as the moments passed, changing from a contemptuous, distrusting scowl to and almost sad, wistful countenance. Spyro wondered what could have bought on what a change._

"_Spyro," Reed began, gesturing to the hatchling. "Could we have a moment, alone? There is aught I wish to speak to you about."_

_Cynder flashed Spyro an anxious glance, one that Spyro returned in kind, but eventually he nodded and followed Reed off into the gardens, mouthing "Don't worry" to the agitated dragoness._

_When they were a sufficient distance from Cynder, couped up around a collection of flowers and weeds, Reed spoke._

"_I wish to apologise for my behaviour earlier," he stated, his eyes sparkling with guilt. "While I am tasked with embodying the wishes of my people, I see now that the terror whom laid siege to Bellum for all those years is not the dragoness I see today."_

_Spyro raised an eyebrow, still wary of the cheetah's words. "What brings such a change of heart?"_

"_Doubt, mostly," Reed continued, rubbing his brow. "What Levis proposed was…improper, to be curt. She should not have attempted to involve you in matters concerning the dragoness, despite your willingness to do so. While I cannot apologise in her stead, I do seek forgiveness for the manner in which I referred to Cynder. It was incorrect."_

"_Indeed it was," Spyro confirmed. "It's fine, Reed. Thank you."_

"_Now, if I may impart a few words of wisdom," Reed began, his tone morose, yet understanding. "You are inexperienced with the courts of Warfang, and the politics that surround it. Cynder's actions, though not of her own will, are nevertheless a contentious subject among the senators and Ambassadors, and regardless of Guardian Terrador's declaration of her affiliation with the Order, I doubt the matter will drop entirely."_

_Spyro dug his claws into the soft earth, his muscles tense. "What are you saying?"_

"_Forgive me for intruding into your private life, but for your sake, I believe I must. As long as Cynder remains out of political affairs, she will be safe, at least with the Order protecting her. However, if she were to become…" Reed stumbled for a moment, searching for the correct terminology. "…intimate, with someone involved in politics, I have no doubt that the senators, and the other Ambassadors, would seek to implicate her in some manner."_

_Reed gave the purple dragon a few moments for the meaning behind his words to sink in, and as Spyro realised the message he was attempting to convey heat immediately blossomed in his cheeks and his tail began to fidget in embarrassment._

"_You mean-"_

"_Yes," the cheetah interrupted._

_Fury began to build in Spyro's mind, clouding his judgement. "That's- That's ridiculous! You mean to say they would attack her simply for being with…with me…assuming there are even feelings there in the first place! That's stupid!"_

_Reed chuckled mirthlessly at Spyro denial, but he would not be swayed. "I simply though to warn you, hatchling. The thought did not occur to me until I witnessed the two of you together, but now…" He sighed deeply. "Be wary, Spyro. If you wish for Cynder to be safe, it would be best to keep her out of politics."_

_Spyro, barely able to contain his anger, nodded stiffly, reluctantly accepting the truth behind Reed's words. Although he didn't entirely trust the cheetah, he had graciously attempted to apologise for his behaviour and had extended advice without thought for a favour in return. The purple dragon glanced back at the jet-scaled dragoness momentarily, watching her as she gazed at the birds amongst the gardens, and sighed in regret._

"_Thank you, Reed," he spoke. "I will…think on your words."_

_Satisfied, the cheetah strode off without another word, disappearing into the gardens. With a sigh, Spyro returned to Cynder, his mood morose, and instantly the dragoness picked up on the change in his tone – from the dragged tail, to the drooping wings, or perhaps it was the regretful, longing glint in his eyes, he didn't know._

"_Spyro, what happened?"_

_Spyro simply shook his head. "I'll tell you later. Come on, we should go see the Guardians."_

- ҉ -

Obscured by a raging wall of ice and cloud that pelted those stuck on the surface with freezing icicles and shearing wind, the sun could offer no warmth for the band of misfits preparing to embark on a rescue mission. Spyro was shivering, the makeshift hide coat wrapped around his body doing little to repel the ferocity of the wind. Next to him Cynder was likewise dressed, holding the sheet of animal skin tightly around her neck, her body trembling with cold. Although the purple dragon's first instinct was to extend a wing and offer her warmth, his mind sprang into action at the last moment and stopped the idiotic movement, berating Spyro's heart for its impulsiveness.

The blizzard that raged made seeing the portly mole standing at the head of a large group of people almost impossible, concealed by the shards of snow that streamed through the air. Mason, donning a set of ornate armour with the emblem of the Warfang guard, an enormous crossbow larger than he resting on his back, was barking orders to the gathered labourers, all of whom had been outfitted with thick winter gear to offset the freezing temperatures and violent weather. There were many moles, forming a layer of brown, black and yellow-grey fur along the ground, and many cheetah towered above their stocky mammalian brethren. Although there were several dragons – Spyro counted their number at around twelve – they were vastly outnumbered by the other races. It was a fact that sobered Spyro for a moment, as he remembered the scourge his race underwent.

Spyro had not paid much heed to Cynder's words two days ago, when she had informed him of the missing workers – two cheetahs and a drake. Although he had faced the hydra that continued to stalk the Vitaean tundra and had almost perished by its fangs, he felt that, now that it was wounded, it and the other wildlife of the frosted wastes posed little threat to the wayward wanderers, and had expected them to return within the day. As the week had dragged onward, however, he quickly realised the severity of the situation. If workers were lost or had perished, nothing would be made in the way of progress until they had returned, and Spyro himself felt guilt and worry at their loss. He was, after all, the expedition's protector, and the purple dragon saw this failure as an unacceptable breach of his unspoken word.

As such, the mission for today was twofold – Vates, with a collection of his men, would venture forth into the mountain forests that lined the tundra and search for the hydra, in order to end the threat it posed to the construction project permanently. Meanwhile, led by Mason, a collection of labourers and workers would explore the tundra and the surrounding woodlands for any sign of the missing workers; identified as Jaquob, an olive-furred, middle-aged male cheetah, Ohmar, an electricity drake a few years older than Spyro himself, and Elise, a crimson hued female cheetah who was newly introduced to adolescence. With worries of the dangerous wilderness rampant among the overseers of the expedition, a small selection of Vates' warriors – Belle, the electricity dragoness a few years older than Spyro who had struck up a thick friendship with Cynder; Nikolai, the heavily-armoured earth drake whom Anareta often butted heads with; Silvester, the grey-scaled wind drake around the age when Spyro first left home and Nikolai's younger brother; Chase, the older, experienced cheetah archer who was one of Vates' closest confidants; Saleh, a red-furred cheetah mage who appeared to be the _Wolves'_ resident enchanter and sorcerer – had been tasked with guarding the rescue party. The purple dragon was thankful to have Anareta to accompany them, especially with his and Cynder's paltry performance against the hydra three days ago, and the other mercenaries were more than a welcome sight.

That is, they would be, if he could see them through the blizzard.

"Spyro! Cynder!" Mason's voice called, almost drowned out by the howling wind. "Are you ready? Have you got your partners?"

Cynder, shivering in the show next to Spyro, answered for him. "No! Not yet!"

Spyro thought he heard the mole curse, but the wind made it impossible to hear. A few orders were barked to the _Wolves_ standing by, and together the group moved towards the two adolescents. Nikolai, Belle, Silvester, Chase, Anareta and Saleh stood before them, cocooned in thick shrouds of winter cloaks and leather jackets to stave off the biting cold. Anareta, mane flickering dimly in the raging wind, offered a weak, begrudging smile, tainted by a poor mood. Spyro returned it, his body quivering.

"Wonderful weather we're having," she commented half-heartedly, the sarcasm on her voice faltering. "Perfect for sight-seeing."

"No kidding," Spyro replied. "Do you have a partner yet?"

"Nope."

"Good. You can come with us."

Anareta chuckled as Cynder shot her a shocked gaze, but Spyro pretended not to see it. In doing so, he also missed the way her features relaxed as she recalled who he was talking about. He had yet to realise there was no animosity between the two dragonesses, contrary to his predictions. The Vulcan strode over to Spyro's side and offered what heat her mane could project, and despite the measly contribution the purple dragon was thankful for her presence.

"At least you'll keep me warm," he joked. Anareta just grunted weakly in response, her body too frigid to respond, although her foul mood seemed to play a part as well. The black dragoness beside them, the only one visible through the hail, began to speak up.

"I'll join you as well," she began, more as a statement than a question. Before she could continue, however, Silvester ran up to her side, ignorant of the cutting wind, and hesitantly put a paw on her arm to draw her attention. Cynder almost jumped in surprise, her reaction drawing a low laugh from Nikolai and Belle.

"Hey, m-miss Cynder?" He began timidly, worry reflecting in his countenance. "C-can I go with you?"

Everyone, bar Silvester's brother and his significant other, gazed at the young dragon with mild confusion. The response he earned dampened his spirits considerably, and the hatchling looked away in humiliation and went to leave, despite the grin of reassurance from his brother. From Cynder's own response – a flick of her wings, the widening of her eyes, and the sudden stiffness in her tail – she was both taken by surprise and somewhat embarrassed by the request. Her eyes drifted longingly over to Spyro and Anareta, as though weighing up her options.

"Um…"

Although Spyro was just as surprised as Cynder was by the request, he nodded encouragingly at Silvester and offered the dragoness a comforting grin. Almost immediately Cynder's expression softened and she returned Silvester's hopeful gaze with a cheery smile, the look a teacher gives her students when they succeed.

"Sure, Silvester. I don't mind."

The hatchling's mood lit up almost immediately. Even in the thrashing storm, one could make out the happiness he exuded without effort. Anareta expected the boy to leap into the air and scream in delight, but somehow he managed to control himself. He glanced at his brother, who just shrugged nonchalantly with his grin persisting.

"Yay! Thank you miss Cynder!" He replied excitedly.

"You'll be fine minding him?" Nikolai queried, gesturing to his brother. "I'm hanging with another group of rescuers and if he goes with you I can't keep an eye on him. You'll make sure he's safe?"

Cynder nodded. "He'll be fine with me, Nikolai, don't you worry."

A sigh of relief escaped Nikolai, and Belle nudged him gently in the side with a smirk. Before she could say anything, however, Silvester had clamped his jaws around Cynder's cloak and begun tugging at it, pulling the dragoness towards the forest and a waiting group of labourers.

"Come on Cynder! Let's go exploring!"

With one final, wistful glance at Spyro, which the purple dragon elected to ignore, the dragoness disappeared into the swirling white.

"Will you two be ok?" Chase began, adjusting the bow slung over his chest. It was an enormous device – at least as tall as the cheetah, perhaps even larger, with a curious apparatus along the arrow rest. It seemed mechanical in some way, although Spyro couldn't determine its use. The bow was made of both wood with a frame of alloy, and what looked like a magnified sight was folded up against the arrow plate. "We four cover the rest of the labourers. Will you be fine on your own?"

Spyro's head dipped. "Yeah, Ana and I will be fine. If we need help, you'll hear us screaming."

"You can scream all you want," Anareta replied, voice rigid. "I sure won't be."

Ignoring her comment – although a slight chuckle escaped Saleh – Chase nodded sagely and gestured for the cheetah mage to follow him. Without another word, the two cheetahs strode off into the storm, disappearing behind the veil of ice and hail. Nikolai and Belle followed suit, offering Spyro and Anareta a few words of good fortune before vanishing in turn. Eventually, even Mason and the other labourers were gone, leaving the Vulcan and the purple dragon to wade through the storm towards what they thought was the forest on their own.

Although Spyro had been expecting a bright, cheery Anareta to keep him company as they searched, upon entering the confines of the forest, the canopy of which offered scant relief from the falling snow, it became apparent that the dragoness was in no mood for small-talk. A scowl covered her face, and her jade eyes were glaring at her surroundings with focused intent. She refused to make eye contact with Spyro, even as he attempted to strike up a discussion, and the Vulcan's mood made him both curious and worried.

"Is there something wrong, Ana?" He began, his voice wary. "You're a lot crankier than you usually are."

Anareta shrugged indifferently. "I've got a lot on my mind."

Spyro chuckled. "Let me guess. You wanted to go hunting that hydra rather than be stuck on escort duty for a bunch of silly labourers."

There was a moment of silence as Anareta neglected to respond. Spyro's snout formed into a knowing smile. "Am I right, or am I right?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Anareta finally answered, gazing out across the slanted forest. Her mind was swirling with thoughts. Should she tell him? Should he risk her mission on the off-chance he would help? "I was hoping to go looking for something while…while we hunted."

Spyro's eyebrow shot up with phenomenal speed. "What was it you wanted to look for?"

Keeping her eyes away from the purple dragon, Anareta bit her lip in anxiety, as though pondering some great dilemma. Spyro waited patiently, watching the snow as it fell through gaps in the canopy of trees, obscuring their vision in a wall of white fog. The coat along his chest and back flickered in the harsh wind, still somehow piercing the shroud of the trees. The weak embers of Anareta's mane danced slowly in the wind, flashes of yellow and orange periodically bursting from the gaps in her charred, blackened back scales. Spyro's gaze momentarily drifted down her length, admiring her body – she was bulkier than Cynder, but not unattractive – before he shook his head roughly and mentally scolded himself for his infidelity.

"It's not important," Anareta finally spoke at length, a near-unnoticeable sigh escaping her maw. She rapidly strode off deeper into the forest, climbing the slanting hill with abandon, and Spyro followed her after a short shrug. Although any other dragon would have continued to question the Vulcan, Spyro had learnt tact in the Warfang courts, and decided to exercise it. Accepting Anareta's answer without question, he followed her deeper into the forest, up the mountain slope, into the blizzard-struck mountains and whatever lay beyond their icy grasp.

If only he had known what he would find, Spyro never would have left the encampment. For as the two disappeared into the thick undergrowth, a flash of luminescent amber irradiated the campsite, and the odour of burning flesh hung thick in the air.

- ҉ -

Somehow, the icy storm still managed to reach Cynder's delicate form even within the confines of the forest, protected by the thick canopy of leaves. Despite the shivering of her body, Silvester managed to keep her mind occupied from thoughts of the weather, constantly pulling and dragging at her cloak to show her something of interest he had found under a root or beneath a rock. Despite the image of the purple-scaled dolt that persisted in her mind, the faint twinge of his scent in her nostrils, the lingering warmth of where his scales had touched hers, Cynder couldn't help but admit that the tiny wind drake was impossibly endearing. He would stare at her with his bright silver eyes, sparkling with youthful energy, glancing behind his shoulder if she ever trailed behind, cried out her name with a strained tone. The energy he exuded was infectious, and soon enough Cynder found her mood brightening considerably.

"Cynder! Cynder!" Silvester called, poking his head up from behind a large, gnarled root, covered in frost from the blizzard. "Come see what I found!"

Smiling broadly, Cynder approached the root of the tree, ignoring the group of labourers behind them who were currently spreading out across the area, wrapped in thick fur sheets to stave off the cold, and peered down to where Silvester was pointing. Beneath a moss-and-snow covered rock laid a small insect about the size of Cynder's paw. It had eight legs and reared upwards as it was exposed to the light, lifting its front legs as though ready to strike. Curious, Cynder reached out to poke it with her wing blade, only for it to strike the metal implant with tiny, concealed fangs.

"Looks scary," Cynder commented. "Don't touch it."

"What do you think it is?" Silvester asked inquisitively, his chest puffing out in pride at his discovery.

"I think it's a spider," the dragoness replied. "They're usually venomous, so don't let it bite you."

Upon the mention of 'venom' Silvester immediately leapt backwards, eyes wide with fear, and allowed the rock to fall back onto the rearing spider, concealing it once more. Cynder couldn't help but giggle at the hatchling's reaction, despite his embarrassment.

"Scared of poison, h-uh?" she asked. Silvester composed himself, straightening his back.

"N-no!" he muttered, indignant. For a moment his expression grew confused, before he looked at Cynder questioningly. "Um…don't you have poison as one of your elements? Ana told me that."

"That's right," Cynder clarified.

"But…poison isn't an element."

"I got it when Malefor had me under a spell," Cynder explained. "He gave me a bunch of different powers while under that spell, but when Spyro broke the spell I kept all those fancy powers. They're pretty neat!"

"Wow," Silvester uttered. "What other powers do you have?"

"Well," Cynder began, chuckling somewhat and spreading her wings. "Alongside poison, I also have shadow. It's pretty cool, since I can swim through the ground with it. I also have a power that the old geezers we know as the Guardians-" Silvester laughed childishly "-call 'fear'. I basically scream really loudly and everyone runs away in fright."

"But your voice isn't scary!" Silvester protested. "Your voice is really nice!"

Cynder's cheeks grew hot and her tail began fidgeting, and she momentarily glanced sideways. The dragoness extended a paw and pinched the wind drake's cheeks gently. "Aw, thank you Silvester. That's really nice."

Silvester smiled broadly in pride, and Cynder couldn't help but laugh again. "My last element is wind. Just like you!" She poked him in the chest with an extended talon, and for a moment Silvester caressed the spot she had touched affectionately. "I think that's my natural element."

Silvester's eyes lit up. "We're two of a kind!" He exclaimed excitedly, tapping the ground in front of him with his paws. Not for the first time, Cynder's eyes were drawn to his mechanical arm, a miracle of technology, and her eyes lit up in curiosity and wonder.

"Hey, Silvester," she began, gesturing to his artificial limb. "Where'd you learn to be so good at mechanics? You're a little genius with airship parts, from what The Tinkerer tells me."

"Oh, yeah!" Silvester replied, his eyes brightening in enthusiasm. "Gwyllim started teaching me-"

"Gwyllim?"

"Oh, whoops." Silvester cupped his mouth with his good paw. His words spilled from his lips like a flood, incapable of being restrained. "That's the Tinkerer's name. I'm not supposed to tell others. He doesn't like his name." The drake grinned broadly. "But I do! Anyway, The Tinkerer started teaching me after me and Nick joined up with Vates. There wasn't much to do back then, since Nick kind of just dragged me along with the _Wolves_ since we had nowhere else to go. When I started playing with the engines one day while Nick and some of the others were out on a mission, The Tinkerer caught me playing with it and scolded me."

"I take it you weren't dissuaded?"

"Nope!" Silvester confirmed, flashing a confident smirk. "I kept coming back and playing with the engines, but The Tinkerer kept sending me away. What he _didn't_ know though, was that I was taking bits and pieces of the engine and making my own little things in my room."

"Wasn't that dangerous?" Cynder asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I know that _now_," Silvester explained. "But back then I didn't. When The Tinkerer happened to see a bunch of the stuff I'd made, he offered to teach me more about mechanics, and I was so excited! First off he had me replace all the parts I'd stolen – now that was a challenge, since I couldn't remember where I'd put everything. But afterwards, I started as The Tinkerer's assistant and I've been helping him maintain the engines of the airship and other little things like that ever since! Oh, and my arm. That too."

Cynder's countenance grew uncertain, curious but wary of pressing the topic, and Silvester noticed her distress. "It's ok! I don't mind it! It's pretty cool, actually, just kinda difficult to explain to strangers at first!"

"Didn't it hurt?" The dragoness queried.

"Well…" The drake began. He scratched his jaw with a talon, pondering something. "I don't really remember much of it. One moment I was fiddling with the turbines of the engine, trying to replace a broken blade, and the next thing I know The Tinkerer is shouting at me and I'm on the floor and there's red everywhere." Silvester's eyes were wide in remembrance, more thrilled than scarred by the memories. "I was awake for a few moments, but I didn't really register what happened until I woke up a couple hours later in bed, with bandages around my arm. Nick said something about ajrena…adrana…uh…adrima…"

"Adrenaline?" Cynder offered.

"That's it! Adrenaline! He said because of the adrenaline I didn't feel much pain at first, and they got a healer from in town to come and tend to me so it didn't hurt too much."

"I had a limp for about a year afterwards. Neither Nick nor the Tinkerer wanted me around the engines anymore, but I kept playing with them anyway. We stopped off in a large city to pick up some brass, sprockets and a few other things for the engines one day, and with the allowance Nick gave me I bought some pieces of metal myself. I don't really know what I was doing at first – just playing around with the stuff I bought without the Tinkerer scolding me about wasted material, and eventually a made a scale model of my arm. It wasn't functional obviously, just a sculpture, but it gave me the idea for a prosthetic limb and after a few years of toying around, I eventually made the first model. It was kinda ugly compared to the brass one I have now, being made of grey metal with a whole bunch of moving parts exposed and made with the assistance of some spirit gems to connect to the nerve endings in my broken joint, but I was so excited to have my arm back I didn't care."

For a moment, Cynder simply stared at Silvester in amazement, unable to formulate a proper response to the hatchling's story. At length, she finally uttered an amazed "Wow" and let her expression speak for herself as a proud smile graced Silvester's features.

"Pretty cool, h-uh?"

"Yeah, it is!" Cynder praised affectionately, leaning forward and rubbing her snout against Silvester's forehead. "You're a little genius, you are."

At Cynder's touch, Silvester immediately curled up in embarrassment, his tail flicking excitedly and his wings opening and closing with a will of their own. The wind drake turned away and stared out across the forest, partially obscured by falling snow, and giggled boyishly. Cynder echoed his happiness, laughing quietly in amusement, but the sound of heavy wingbeats in the distance silenced the two. With a spark of fear running conducting her length, Cynder's crimson wing instinctively sought out Silvester and shielded him protectively, her turquoise eyes darting towards the white radiance of the sky, fragmented by the canopy of trees. Black figures blocked the light for few, precious seconds, before disappearing once more behind the shielding branches.

Cynder's head swivelled to face the labourers behind her, who had immediately regrouped upon hearing the thudding beating. Their leader, a stoic-eyed shadow drake, glanced expectantly at Cynder, who replied with a swift nod – all clear. She recognized the sound of those wings.

The dragoness dipped her head next to Silvester's ear – the owner of which was gazing anxiously at the sky. "Wanna see what that was?" She asked eagerly.

Silvester's reply was a quick incline of his head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Although there were traces of the shimmer of fear within his turquoise irises, Cynder merely tightened the embrace of her wing as she ushered him up the branches of the nearest pine, and his body relaxed. With careful guidance, the two dragons eventually came to rest at the peak of the gangly, almost skeletal plant, its dying limbs clinging vainly to the last, whitened leaves. A single gentle push later, and the two poked their heads out of the weak canopy and into the exposed sky, immediately assaulted by a relaxed gale and innumerable pelting snowflakes. The impenetrable white fog had weakened somewhat, and as Cynder gazed skyward she could see seven dark shapes staining the white canvas, serpentine and flanked by four scaly wings each. Alongside the giant reptiles, smaller, bat-like creatures soared and cried, their piercing shrieks reaching the dragoness' ears despite the distance.

"What are they?" Silvester asked curiously, eyes wide in awe.

"You've probably seen them up close," Cynder began, gesturing with her spare wing, the other still tucked snugly around the wind drake. "But they're wyverns, probably feral ones. No doubt they're out hunting right now, or moving nest."

As if answering her unspoken call, a guttural, entirely un-mammalian cry split the serene ambience. Silvester's lips cocked a smile.

"The small little guys next to them are probably dreadwings," Cynder expanded. "You see how they're smaller than the wyverns? Dreadwings and wyverns sometimes live together, since their habitat and prey are fairly similar."

"The dreadwings were used by the apes," Silvester commented, a note of certainty in his tone. "They were enslaved. Those ones are wild."

"Most likely. It's uncommon, but some people other than apes have tamed them. The ones up there are probably newly-freed dreadwings, since most of their number were domesticated by the apes." Cynder passed a proud grin at Silvester. "You're quite the knowledgeable one, aren't you?"

The hatchling shrugged gently and looked away, his tail swaying uncontrollably. He softly, almost unnoticeably eased himself further into Cynder's hold, rubbing up against the membrane of her wing, and his voice was terse and hesitant. "Yeah…the others just go out and kill people. I stay in the airship and read most of the time."

Cynder giggled. "That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. People who read are just as important as people who fight."

"Do you think so?"

"I do," the dragoness replied earnestly. "Every kind of person is important, even if others don't always say so."

Silvester, in his excitement, was about to say more, but before either dragon could make a move there was a low, rumbling explosion in the distance, beyond the ocean of broken, wooden limbs. A flash of amber luminescence emanated the horizon, orange tongues of flame licking at the air, and Cynder's mind was set on alert. Clouds of smoke drifted towards the clouds, the black gas marring the perfect, white sky.

"That was near the camp," Cynder muttered, horrified. Silvester glanced at her in worry, before staring back at the tower of smoke.

"We need to leave."

- ҉ -

Snow fell from the trees, gathered upon their branches, and the low rumble alerted both Spyro and Anareta to the encampment. Through the blackened canopy the purple drake could see billowing smoke rising from the tent city, and the ice he strode through leapt up and grasped his heart with cold claws. Anareta flashed him a worried glance, and without a word the two adolescents abandoned their search and began sprinting through the forest, back the way they came.

"I knew this would happen," Anareta snarled, her footsteps dampened by the thick white ground. "I knew it…"

"What are you talking about?" Spyro demanded, his eyes planted firmly on the smoke through the trees.

The Vulcan shook her head. "You'll find out soon enough, if I'm right."

The moments he ran towards the campsite felt like months to the purple dragon. His footsteps were heavy and his heart strangled by fear – fear for himself, for the others that had stayed behind at the encampment. He forced his weighted limbs to move, pushing forward through the tight forest. Anareta seemed unrestricted, keeping a lead in front of Spyro, moving with practiced ease. Eventually the forest began to thin, and the dark bark of the trees disappeared to make way for the swirling white of the blizzard, still hailing the ground with shards of ice. Beyond the frozen river, covered in fragmented frost, the tan-brown of the tent city was alight in fiery light, weakened cloth burning like timber. Red-orange sparks danced around the encampment, like pixies of fire laughing and playing in the air. The relentless wind of the storm was aide to the flames rapidly spreading throughout the encampment, the snow evaporating before it could melt to water. The amber light against the icy white sky was a contrast Spyro never wanted to see again.

"Dear ancestors," he muttered, before another explosion shook the ground and a mighty plume of orange burst from within the burning flames.

"Come on!" Anareta cried, heedless of the scent of burnt skin and fur. Cries of pain and fear rode the wind, and labourers were running from their tents, set aflame by the raging tongues of heat, into the safety of the forest. Anareta wasted no time, sprinting heedlessly into the raging inferno before Spyro could so much as utter a word of protest.

With a snarl of fury, the purple drake followed her, squinting in pain as the fires licked at his scales.

He did his best to follow Anareta as she danced around the burning material, dodging falling pillars of timber, charred black by the orange flames. The Vulcan was too certain, too confident in the face of such destruction. A worker, a small, pale-furred mole, was stuck under a fallen crate, begging to be helped, but the Vulcan ignored him and ran deeper into the conflagration. Spyro gasped in horror at the sight, abandoning his pursuit to pause.

"Are you ok?" he asked lamely, taking a moment to inhale deeply, before spraying the area with frosted breath. Empowered by magic, the icy cascade smothered the flames chewing through the wooden crate, and with a heavy push the purple drake lifted the box. The mole dashed out from under it before Spyro dropped it with a heavy thud.

"Get out of here!" He cried, and the mole obeyed without question, disappearing in the direction Spyro had originated from. Satisfied that his charge was safe, the purple dragon surveyed his surroundings.

The camp was ablaze. Pillars of luminescent flame soared into the sky from the remains of the marquees, the wooden support pillars scattered about the ramshackle roads between the shelters, blocking access. Fairy-like cinders and embers danced through the air, and the sky was black with suffocating smoke. Spyro coughed sharply and spat a glob of watery ice onto the ground, choked by the black film.

_What the hell is going on?_ He thought rapidly, shock zapping his veins. _Where's Anareta?_

A violent, startling through occurred. _Sparx! Where's Sparx!?_

That thought spurred him on, and with a sudden burst of energy Spyro dove into the flames, heedless of the tongues of heat licking at his arms, legs and underbelly. The screams of the wounded filled his ears, and anthem to his desperation, and the roaring of the fire served as a beat to accompany it. The heat was almost unbearable against his purple scales, numbed from pain and agony by three years dose of time, but Spyro pressed onward, dodging burning cloth and falling timber. And yet, despite his determination, he could find no sign of the Vulcan dragoness, or his flighty brother.

_Where are they?_

His answer was another explosion. The proximity amplified its power, sending shockwaves through Spyro's body and assaulting his ears with countless spears of sound. Grasping his head in pain for but a moment, the purple dragon looked above the roaring flames and pillars of smoke to see a blinding burst of amber light illuminate the blackened sky not far from his position, followed by a glorious plume of flailing, cascading fire.

_There._

Without hesitation Spyro darted in the direction of the fiery rupture. The burning remnants of tents and marquees were ignored in his pursuit, his footsteps quick and rushed, breathing quick, heart pounding in his chest as though it was a prisoner begging to be released from the gibbet. But the purple drake was not prepared for the creature standing in the centre of a burned-out clearing, the flames rapidly caressing the figure's fire-red robe, cinders pirouetting around his humanoid figure, an armoured, clawed hand coiled tightly around the orange-red scales of a dragoness' neck, tight enough to draw blood. A red hood concealed its head in a veil of impenetrable darkness, blacker than the coldest of winter nights. Anareta squirmed in the humanoid's grasp, clawing vainly at the armoured hand, her talons scraping against the foreign metal, leaving barely a scratch.

"Hey!"

At Spyro's outburst, the figure's head turned slowly to face the purple dragon. Spyro gasped in shock as he beheld the two striking, golden pinpricks of light that were its eyes, pupil-less and reptilian. With a careless flick of its arm Anareta was sent hurtling into the charred ground, a pained outburst escaping her maw.

And the creature was upon him in the blink of an eye.

With reflexes unsuited for his bulky form, Spyro leapt backwards with a beat of his wings as the robed figure charged at him, striking the air where he had just been standing with the spiked knuckles of its armoured fist. He skidded along the damp ground, digging great clefts in the soft dirt with his talons, and the moment he had readied himself the purple drake opened his maw and unleashed a vicious whip of lightning. The being leapt into the air, out of the electricity's path, and before Spyro could retaliate a massive weight, strengthened by the pain of armoured boots smashing into his spine, sent him crashing into the ground. The air was forced from his lungs and Spyro gasped for breath.

From between squinted eyelids, Spyro saw Anareta rush to her feet, paw nursing the puncture wounds along her neck, and sent a thick, thrumming ball of condensed heat and plasma towards the robed figure pressing Spyro to the ground. With a sudden burst of heat along his scales the weight lifted, and the purple drake saw the humanoid materialise in a flash of flame next to the Vulcan. Before the dragoness could respond she had been struck in the side of the head with the creature's steel elbow, sending her careening to the ground ungracefully once more. Spyro pushed himself to his feet, his back aching and arms staging a coup against the orders of his mind, but despite the burning in his limbs he prepared a dense orb of earth energy in his gut, ready to release it towards the robed humanoid.

Before he could unleash his magic, however, the figure disappeared in another flicker of orange, materialising several feet away, atop a scorched pole. Swapping his elements, Spyro abandoned the earthen ball and began readying a tongue of flame, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Anareta do the same as she rose to her feet. In unison, needing nary a command, the two adolescents split their jaws and unleashed a synchronised tide of incandescent heat and dancing, orange plasma upon their mysterious foe, consuming it in a swaying cloud of red, orange and yellow.

Neither was prepared for the buffet of wind that sent them hurtling backwards, into the ruins of a burning tent. Ignoring the stabbing pain assaulting their bodies the two dragons threw the ruins from their sight and stared at the robed figure with mixtures of horror and contempt.

A pair of wide, glorious wings sprouted from the humanoid's back, coloured a dark, bloody maroon and seemingly ruined with innumerable scars and gaps in the flesh-hued membrane. Spikes, talons and other lethal spokes jutted from the bone, piercing the skin and scales of the limbs like murderous weapons. Glaring at Spyro with its golden-point eyes, sending a shiver of fear down the purple drake's length, the creature flexed its hands and beat its wings once, buffeting the two dragons with another gust of wind. Nevertheless, Spyro dug his talons into the ground and met the monster's gaze with his own, showing naught but determination.

Cinder and ash danced through the scorched air like pixies and fireflies. The wind no longer carried the chill of ice, but the sear of heat. The cries of the wounded sang across the sky as a chorus of fear. Anareta snarled, baring her bloodied fangs. The creature clenched its hand, eyes flicking towards the Vulcan. Spyro's body was tense, but even he could see the hate emanating from the dragoness at that moment. The flash of recognition that passed between them was impossible to disregard.

Before either combatant could move, the humanoid flapped its wings and launched skyward, sending cinder and ash scattering throughout the clearing. Spyro raised a wing to protect his sight as the red-hot sparks showered him with heat, grimacing at the lances of pain impaling his membrane. Once the pain receded, he lowered his wing and gasped in shock as he saw the robed figure flying through the air, and away.

"Like hell you are!" Anareta cried in rage, her voice quivering in unrestrained fury.

The Vulcan leapt into the air and flexed her wings, rocketing into the sky behind the humanoid before Spyro could so much as utter a startled cry. The purple dragon swivelled his head, looking around the burning camp for someone, anyone he could find. Eventually he relied on impulse rather than logic, shaking his head and leaping into the sky in Anareta's direction. Fire, ash and burning cloth fell below him as he ascended into the misty white sky, clouded by plumes of black smoke, in pursuit of the golden-eyed demon.

- ҉ -

Ribbons of flame threatened to engulf her, but the jet dragoness swung her tail in a wide arc, extinguishing the burning embers with a gust of chilled wind. Cynder shielded Silvester with her left wing, holding the frightened drake close to her as the conflagration attempted to consume them. But Cynder was too proud to fall to a mere firestorm.

"Cover your ears, Silvester," she warned, drawing a deep breath. As the youngster obeyed her with fearful eyes, Cynder released a screech of ear-splitting amplitude, the shockwaves sending debris and embers flying outwards. As the ash and ruins settled, a small clearing had been excavated, slowing the two dragons room to breathe without torrents of billowing smoke clouding her vision and clogging their lungs. The black dragoness coughed sharply, expelling the poisonous gas from her chest, and looked around the burning campsite.

_What in the Realms happened here?_ She pondered absent-mindedly, leading Silvester under a fallen tent pole, protecting him from falling embers with her wing. _Where are the Guardians? And Mason, and Sparx, and Hunter? They have to be here somewhere…._

"Is anyone there!?" A voice cried, echoing over the sound of crackling fire and snapping wood. Cynder recognized the silvery, modulated voice. "Blast it! Can anyone hear me? Do you need help?"

"Cyril!" Cynder responded, her voice as loud as she could muster without relying on her magic. "Cyril! It's me, Cynder! Can you hear us?"

A burst of icy wind was his response, as a large icicle materialised in the broken remains of a tent to Cynder's left. The sudden force sent the charred cloth and broken supports scattering, and Cynder tightened her hold on Silvester as the young one let out a quiet whimper. When she opened her eyes, she saw the icy-blue scaled figure of Cyril, both forepaws firmly placed on the ground at the base of the frozen spear, gazing at her with anxious eyes. He collapsed the shard of ice as it began to melt in the heat, approaching the two dragons with haste. Next to his neck, a small pinprick of golden light hovered.

"Are you ok, Cynder?" He asked, checking for wounds along her back and wings. "Nothing damaged?"

"Cynder! I've never been happier to see you!" Sparx exclaimed, quickly rushing to her side.

"No, we're fine," Cynder clarified, gesturing to the young wind drake under her wing. "Although, we are a bit shaken. Do you know what's going on?"

"Some fool must have set the campsite alight," Cyril remarked, eyeing Silvester cautiously. "Though I know not why. Most of the workers were out searching, and most of whom remained were holed up in the zeppelins. Have you seen anyone else?"

Cynder shook her head sadly. "Not anyone we could save. The rest of my search party remained on the outskirts of the campsite, away from the fire."

"I'm scared…" Silvester muttered, resulting in Cynder tightening her grip on his frame. She nuzzled his forehead gently, trying lamely to comfort the boy.

"Me too, buddy," Sparx commented. "Me too."

Cyril sighed deeply and shook his head, but Cynder wasn't finished. "Where are the other Guardians? What about Hunter? I know he didn't leave on the search…"

"Terrador, Volteer and Hunter left in search of other survivors, the moment we realised what happened," Cyril explained. A puff of cold air escaped his snout. "I have no idea what that explosion was, though. Surely you noticed it as well?"

"A bit difficult to miss it, to be honest," Cynder replied.

"Where's Spyro?" Sparx questioned suddenly, flicking around Cynder's snout. "Did he go on the rescue mission? Did he see what happened? Is he here? We need to find him!"

Cynder almost swatted the dragonfly to the ground. "I don't know. I haven't-

"There!"

Silvester gestured to the sky, through the towers of black smoke, where two dragons could be seen rapidly disappearing into the mist. Cynder inhaled sharply as she recognized the lavender scales of Spyro, following the crimson-hued dragoness in front of him. They were flying away from the camp, towards the forests covering the base of the mountains.

"Where is the impudent hatchling disappearing to?" Cyril questioned sharply, his upper lip curling back, his tail rigid.

"I don't know," the dragoness began. "But I know Spyro wouldn't leave without good reason. He's obviously noticed what happened."

Cynder tapped Silvester on the forehead with a wing-blade gently, ushering him over to Cyril's side. The elderly ice drake gingerly placed a cerulean wing around the young boy, enveloping in its unexpectedly-warm embrace, though heat was by no means difficult to come by right now.

"You'll take care of him, won't you? I'm going after Spyro, but I promised Nikolai I'd look after him…"

Cyril nodded. "Never fear. He shall be safe with me."

"I'm coming with you!" Sparx interrupted indignantly. "No arguments!"

Cynder was hardly in the mood for arguing with the dragonfly, but as she turned to take off Silvester reached out and grasped her front paw tightly. The dragoness turned and her heart almost melted when she saw the young wind drake's pleading eyes, his body quivering with fear.

"Don't go, Cynder! It's dangerous!"

Cynder smiled softly. "It's ok Silvester. I can take care of myself. Wait for me, ok?"

And without another word, Cynder leapt into the air, ascending beyond the inferno with the glowing dragonfly next to her, leaving her charge in Cyril's care as she pursued the blotch of purple rapidly fading into the distant mist.

- ҉ -

"Anareta, wait!"

Spyro's call went unheeded as the red-hued dragoness dove through the tree canopy, in pursuit of the robed figure. A burst of orange light illuminated the grove as Spyro followed, but as he landed with a dampening roll and surveyed his surroundings he could see no looming humanoid with golden eyes staring back at him, only the dragoness standing in a burning circle of charred earth, staring intently at the undergrowth.

"Come on Spyro, we're going to lose him!" She snarled, racing off deeper into the forest. With a sigh, the purple dragon followed, keeping pace with the Vulcan relatively easy. Every few seconds he would glimpse a flash of orange or a blur of maroon wing in the trees ahead, but beyond that he had not a clue what Anareta was chasing. And they pressed on, deeper still, into the forest, with the ground growing steeper and steeper.

"Lose _who?_" Spyro asked, his mood growing foul. The sight of burnt flesh and charred wood, and the scent of searing flesh and fur, hung heavily in his mind. The pounding of his paws on the tough dirt formed into a steady rhythm that following his thudding heart.

"Just keep going!" Was her only reply. "He's not getting away again!"

"Will you please explain what in the ancestors' names is _going on?_"

Anareta snarled back. "Just shut up and keep running!"

Bereft of anything further to say, and acknowledging Anareta's terse mood, Spyro shut his mouth and continued to follow the Vulcan. Trees passed by in a blur, and slowly they began to ascend the mountainside, trailing the flashes of colour through the trees. Spyro came to realise that the figure, whatever it was, was leading them somewhere.

But when they came upon a cave in the mountainside, a jagged scar surrounded by outcrops of rock slathered in layers of snow and frost, Spyro hesitated. As Anareta prepared to dive into the cavern, Spyro yelped out a warning.

"Wait!" He cried, holding up a paw. "Whatever that…_thing_ was, it's obviously leading us somewhere. We don't even know where this cave leads, for one. Should we really be doing this?"

Anareta gazed at the purple drake for a split-second, raising her upper lip contemptuously and rolling her eyes, before diving into the crevasse. Spyro sighed deeply, his body heaving, before following the dragoness into the darkness.

Following just behind Anareta's swaying tail, Spyro's eyes widened in awe as her sputtering mane roared to life, illuminating the cavern walls in flickering orange light. Sheets of ice covered the rocky surface, and the amber light illuminated the structures of frozen water, creating glittering, dancing shapes in the ice. Even Anareta seemed shocked by the sight, but her anger quickly returned and she faced straight ahead, diving into the darkness before her, dispelling it with the amber light from her back. Spyro followed anxiously, treading softly on the cold, hard ground, fragments of stone jutting into the underside of his paws. He nipped the end of Anareta's tail, eliciting the dragoness' volatile attention for but a moment.

"I hope you know what you're doing," was all he muttered, a scowl of disapproval scarring his face. Anareta snorted loudly.

"Shut up and keep following."

"Anareta, what the _hell_ is going on?" Spyro challenged, leaping in front of the dragoness and bringing her to a sudden halt. "You obviously know something about the attack on the campsite! Why are we here, in the middle of some isolated cave who knows how far from the airships, when we should be back trying to help the wounded? I don't even know if Sparx or the Guardians are safe!"

The Vulcan snarled loudly, her eyes shimmering with indignance. She spread her wings instinctively, as if preparing for battle. After a few moments however, her anger died down and she sighed heavily, though her lip remained curled back, exposing her upper fangs, and her tail remained rigid.

"I know the man who just torched the camp," she explained. "But it'll take too long to explain the whole story right now, and to be quite honest with you, I'm not going to sit around talking while he's still in my immediate vicinity. I'm not letting him get away again."

"So why should I follow you?"

"Suffice it to say, he's a bad guy who needs to go down," the dragoness huffed. "The fact that he attacked the whole camp for no gain should be enough reason to take him down."

"No gain? How assumptive of you, Anareta."

Both adolescents froze as the disembodied voice reverberated off the walls of the cavern, flooding the tunnel with its guttural tone. Spyro and Anareta started, looking beyond the small sphere of light that Anareta produced and into the darkness beyond. The sound of shuffling wings and the clanging of armour followed, though Spyro could not determine where from. The sounds felt as though they came from everywhere.

"Come. I have things to speak of, but this is not the place."

More shuffling of wings, and this time Spyro saw a flash of orange and maroon out of the corner of his eye, tracing the edge of the light. Anareta saw it too, as she raced forward in pursuit without a word, leaving Spyro to catch up. The pounding resumed, this time in darkness, and as the two dragons chased a near-imaginary quarry through the darkened tunnels, filled with sharpened rocks, slick ice and jagged stalagmites. Every few moments the purple dragon saw a flicker of red, gold or maroon on the edges of his vision – sometimes just the edge of a robe, other times the shape of a humanoid body – and his pace would quicken, just as Anareta's did. Their pursuit continued for what felt like hours, until the cavern began to brighten and a bright light could be seen illuminating the walls of the cave from beyond.

"The exit," Anareta observed. "Come on. Let's go."

The light grew brighter and brighter as they approached, and Spyro squinted against the contrast as he passed the threshold into the outside world. As his vision adjusted to the sudden light, he gasped in shock as he beheld what lay beyond. The two adolescents stood on ledge overlooking a massive, snowed valley, filled with thickets of pine trees and covered in a fine layer of ice. The mountains surrounding the haven, protecting it from outside influence – it was a sanctuary, untouched by civilization. Spyro could do nothing but stare in awe.

"Wow…"

"While this is all pretty and fantastic," Anareta commented, snapping Spyro from his trance. "We have a killer to chase."

"I still don't entirely believe you," Spyro replied, frowning. "Something doesn't add up."

"Whatever. Let's just go."

Spyro growled lowly as Anareta leapt off of the ledge and dived into the forest below, sending snow and leaves flying as she hit the ground. He shook his head and, with great reluctance, followed the Vulcan into the forest, landing with a thud on the ground below. As Spyro steadied himself and examined his surroundings – a clearing just below the rocky outcrop, surrounded by frosted trees on all sides – he swallowed nervously as he noticed the burned shells of charcoal littering the ground and stains of crimson blood that had not yet been cleaned from the silk-white snow. There had been killing here.

No more words were exchanged between the adolescents as they trudged through the forest, every sense on alert. Spyro kept his wings half unfurled, tail rigid, ready for the slightest movement in his surroundings, but everything was still. No snow was falling, blocked by the thick canopy of branches and leaves. Now animals stirred in the undergrowth, tunnelling through the thick sheet of ice. The only sounds that broke the silence were the gentle crackling of Anareta's mane and the haunting, echoing howl of the icy wind above them, shielded by the trees.

The purple drake lost track of time. There was nothing to measure time out here – no sun, no moon, no sky. The only measurement of the passing interval was the rhythmic beat of Spyro's heart, drumming heavily in the cage of his chest. _Thud._ Every movement felt slow, metered, and cautious. _Thud._ His limbs felt weighted, as though chained to a cast-iron ball. _Thud._

Anareta slowed down too, almost grinding to a halt in front of the purple dragon. Still preoccupied with his thoughts, Spyro didn't notice and quickly overtook her. The moment he passed into her field of vision, however, she jumped in shock and let out a startled cry.

"What the-!" She exclaimed, jumping back. "How did you do that?"

Spyro gazed at her quizzically. "Do what?"

"You just…appeared in front of me."

Before either could say anything, the crack of a twig caught their attention and both heads swivelled to face the direction the sound originated from. Through the mess of trees and gnarled wood, a small clearing could be seen, a rounded area of snow where trees did not spread their roots. With a rapid pace and a quick, exchanged glance, the two adolescents raced towards the clearing, entering with metered steps and cautious eyes. The remains of a small fire pit lay abandoned in the centre, overcome by snow. Spyro's gaze drifted towards a large tree on the edge of the clearing, standing out from others by virtue of its width, and he gasped softly as he noticed the ramshackle tree house rested between the forks of its branches, made of planks of wood and sheets of tin, covered in fragments of ice from the cold.

"Ancestors," Spyro muttered. "Does someone live here?"

Anareta growled lowly, her voice almost a mumble. "Something's not right. Why would he need a house in the middle of a forest?"

"You're not talking sense, Ana," Spyro replied, throwing the Vulcan a disapproving grimace. "Who is this man? What does he want?"

"Spyro, listen," Anareta replied, her voice strained. "I'll tell you everything once we find him, ok? I just don't have time to explain right now, especially if he's still stalking us!"

"If I may interject," the disembodied voice returned, echoing from above. "The situation seems more akin to _you_ stalking _me_."

Both adolescents eyes shot up to the house in the trees and Spyro's eyes widened in shock just as Anareta's narrowed in fury. Within the crook of two branches, on the tin roof of the makeshift home, the orange-robed figure sat, it's piercing golden eyes surveying the two young dragons with scrutiny and amusement, its face shrouded by a veil of inky darkness. Its wings had disappeared as though they never existed. An armoured, clawed hand grasped the branch with great strength, the bark fracturing beneath its powerful hold. Its body was shielded by a large metal plate, decorated with outlandish, foreign symbols. Spyro gazed at the creature in confusion and curiosity, but Anareta merely snarled in rage.

"Dyan," she muttered. "I knew it was you."

"You still chase me, even now," Dyan replied, his voice baritone. The edges of his cloak were covered in clots of dried blood and black smears of charcoal. "And once I thought you to have given up this false hope of revenge. But now I see you have merely enlisted help."

"The _Wolves_ were a means to get me here, nothing more," the Vulcan replied, her voice thick with loathing. "And now I'm here. What I want to know is why _you're_ here."

Dyan chuckled, his voice carrying to the ground despite the distance. "Such bravado, to demand knowledge so freely."

"Will someone please explain _what is going on?_"

Spyro's outcry cut the conversation short. Both Anareta and Dyan glanced at the purple drake, the former with shock, the latter with amusement. Spyro glared at the both of them, teeth bared and wings wide, his eyes glimmering with anger. He gestured to Dyan with a forepaw, talon lengthened.

"One of you, explain what's going on!"

Dyan hood shook side to side, as though he was shaking his head in disapproval. "Weakness. To leave your allies in the dark."

"I would have told him, if you hadn't interrupted like you did!" Anareta countered.

"Tell me _what?_" Spyro challenged, a guttural growl forming in his throat.

"It does not matter," Dyan stated, his body shifting, his armour clinking. "The Vulcan girl interests me not. It is the purple dragon that commands my attention."

"…what?"

Dyan chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh that echoed throughout the forest. It reverberated through Spyro's entire body, sending unnatural shivers down his length, and his blood felt like ice as he heard the mirth mixed with malice in the robed one's voice. Unconsciously he adopted a battle pose, forearms spread, wings wide. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, his head swirling with ill thoughts.

"You look like him. Will you follow in his footsteps? Will you be a herald of destruction for this Realm? Or will you choose a different path?"

Spyro snarled. No names were necessary. "I'm nothing like him."

"You are very similar, whether you acknowledge it or not," Dyan countered. "His power…was unimaginable. You share that magnitude of potential."

Dyan stood up, balancing effortlessly on the branch, and without warning he held out his hand and an arrow of fire burst forth from his armour palm. With a start Spyro curled his head into his chest and hugged his wings and tail close to his body, a pulse of earthen energy forming a shield of stone around his body. The bolt of heat impacted against the outer shell, a harsh explosion sending teeth-shaking vibrations down the purple drake's body. Over the shattering call of the explosion, Spyro could hear Anareta's startled cry.

And as the heat dissipated, the sphere of stone shielding Spyro from harm covered in hairline, jagged cracks, the purple drake released the magic holding it and allowed it to crumble to dust. Spyro glared at the robed figure in the trees above, his eyes narrowing in hostility. Dyan's countenance saw no discernible change, his curious eyes watching the adolescent eagerly. Snow fell from the trees, shaken from the blast.

"Will you use that power wisely? Or follow in your predecessor's footsteps? What strength of will do you possess?"

The humanoid leapt from the tree branch, landing in the snow with a soft thud. Spyro and Anareta leapt back, wary of a follow-up attack, but none was forthcoming. Dyan stood tall and straightened his back, watching Spyro all the while. His armoured hand flexed threateningly.

"Sentinel of the world…Allow me to test that will."

Anareta's eyes narrowed and a dangerous growl emanated from her throat. Spyro's limbs grew taut and his wings were held rigid, widened in readiness. A multitude of elements were swirling through his body – whispers of fire, shards of frost, arcs of lightning, bolts of stone – waiting to be unleashed. Bloodlust coursed through his veins in expectation, but the shroud of uncertainty clouding his mind dampened his spirit.

Dyan gave no room for preparation. He sent two bolts of fire flying from both palms, aimed wildly. Although the attack was misaimed, it forced both Anareta and Spyro to backpedal, putting them on the defensive. The robed biped followed up by leaping towards Spyro while the drake was mid-air, striking him in the stomach with an armoured hand. The purple dragon gasped in pain and was sent hurtling into the snow, while Anareta jumped at Dyan with her talons flexing, her maw open in a piercing roar. The humanoid ducked under her attack and leapt backwards, opening his palm and unleashing a raging tide of incandescent heat, forcing the newly-arisen Spyro to dodge away at the last minute, lest the fire sear his scales.

In return Anareta summoned a whip of flame from the burning pyre at the tip of her tail, tracing a grand arc across the clearing. Spyro's body hugged the ground as the line on heat soared overhead, eyes squinting as it singed the tips of his wings, but he gasped in shock as Dyan merely extended a hand and curled his fingers around the lash as it struck him. With a heavy pull, he wrenched the whip toward him and it was struck from the dragoness' grasp, the stream of rippling plasma disintegrating as though it never existed. Anareta stood jaws agape in shock, giving Dyan the opportunity to leap forward and strike her across the temple with his elbow, sending the Vulcan rocketing towards the root of a nearby tree, where she crumpled with a pain outburst.

"Your form is off, Anareta," Dyan observed. The dragoness began to stand, nursing her wounded throat with a paw. "You left yourself open."

"No thanks to you," she spat. "But I'm not alone anymore."

The robed man turned without a moment to spare as a serrated blade composed of solid ice sliced through the air towards him. With unnatural reflexes Dyan lifted his plated arm to block the blow, fragments of ice flying as the blade cracked under duress. Spyro took no liberties with time, pirouetting in a circular motion to strike at Dyan's waist, but the heavy armour the humanoid wore took the impact of the attack and he bounded rearward, beyond from the purple dragon's reach. Abandoning the shard of ice, Spyro began to spit icicles at his foe, all of which either missed or were parried with little effort. Finding little advance with one element, he swapped to the next, launching a condensed sphere of dirt and slate at the humanoid, but Dyan tilted his body to the right and the attack passed by harmlessly.

Anareta, now on her feet, opened her maw and shot forth a plume of flame. Dyan backpedalled to avoid the heat, Spyro still hot on his tail. The purple dragon unleashed a short-ranged burst of force, hued green, but Dyan rushed forward and avoided the attack. Swapping elements once more Spyro raked at the robed biped with electrically-charged talons, every blow parried by his armoured hand seamlessly and fluently, as though the battle was merely a complicated routine. The Vulcan dragoness abated her stream of fire, instead cracking open her jaws as a bolt of compressed heat rocketed out towards Dyan. Although the figure avoided the attack, grasping Spyro's snout and pulling him to the ground with him to dodge the blow, he was forced to loosen his hold on the purple dragon as Anareta jumped towards his back. He stopped the dragoness in her tracks with a well-placed kick in the stomach, the metal boots and shin guards covering his legs smashing into the adolescent's abdomen with incredible force. The Vulcan was sent flying with an agonised, shrill scream, landing in a snow drift on the edge of the clearing.

Spyro roared, drawing Dyan's attention, and the biped was forced on the defensive as the purple dragon coated his paws in bracers of stone, blunt-edged mallets, and began to hammer into the creature. Despite countering every attack faultlessly, the force of the blows was slowly, surely, driving him rearward. Despite the anger welling up within him, a spark of triumph began to build in the drake's mind.

It didn't last long.

The purple dragon struck with increased ferocity, a valiant uppercut driving Dyan's armoured hand away from his chest. With a cry he bought another stone hammer up, ready to smash into the biped's armoured midsection, but before his blow could connect a strip of fire burst into life between him and his target, and his arm came to a jarring halt as it slammed into a pole kept outstretched. With widened eyes and a sharp inhale of shock, Spyro had only a moment to realise that Dyan held a decorated, sharpened halberd between he and the dragon, blocking the earthen mace. Tassels of red ribbon hung from the handle, and the blade was embellished with ornamental splatters of crimson blood. Dyan swung the polearm in a circular motion, throwing Spyro's arm to the ground forcefully, and elbowed the drake in the jaw with his metal-clad elbow. Flashes of red overcame the adolescent's vision and he was sent hurtling to the ground ungracefully.

"Impressive," Dyan remarked, as casually as if combat was a simple conversation. "But you wield more than mere elements, Spyro. Show me."

With a struggle, his limbs shaking from exertion and cold, Spyro partially lifted himself from the ground, white flecks of snow gathering upon his body. "What are you talking about?"

Dyan's eyes narrowed. "Do not feign ignorance."

Before either party could continue, an enormous sphere of fiery energy launched towards Dyan. The humanoid swung his halberd in a grand arc, striking the ball of heat and sending it careening into a tree, where it exploded with incredible force, sending charred bark and cinders flying across the clearing. Anareta stood upright, jaw crackling with fire, and she launched another explosive bolt towards the orange-robed figure, but he leapt to the right to avoid the attack and swiftly jumped to the dragoness.

Anareta was stunned as her flank was struck with the hooked end of the halberd, puncturing her vulnerable flesh. Another pained outburst emanated from the dragoness, and a flash of blood painted the white canvas beneath her as she crumpled to the ground, the halberd blade still impaled in her skin.

A flash of violet light illuminated the clearing, bathing the area in a surreal, lavender glow. Dyan swivelled, staring back at the purple dragon to see him surrounded by a sphere of bright, lilac energy, hissing with power and humming ferociously, growing larger every moment. The humanoid's eyes narrowed, in suspicion or eagerness one could not discern, and suddenly the sphere cracked sharply and burst open, a flood of violet energy sweeping across the snow-strewn forest. Arcs of amaranthine lightning struck the ground and trees surrounding the purple dragon, and abruptly a lance of violet plasma shot forth from the drake's open maw, straight as an arrow, towards Dyan.

The blast enveloped everything Spyro saw, and for a moment his vision could register nothing but brilliant, lilac light. His entire body trembled with the power of Convexity humming through his bones, his flesh, his veins. When the beam of energy finally abated, vanishing as rapidly as it had formed, nothing stood in its way but a line of warped snow. Dyan was nowhere to be seen.

"What the-

In a flash of fire, the robed biped appeared someway to Spyro's left, and the purple dragon snarled as he unleashed another spear of blinding energy in his direction, only to see him materialise further away from the attack. Anger swelling in his blood, Spyro continued to fire beam after beam after beam, watching with fury unending as Dyan continued to avoid every strike launched towards him. With every lance thrown, Spyro felt his hold on Convexity weakening slowly, as though it was rapidly slipping from his grasp.

The power was knocked from him rather than permitted to leave on its own, as Dyan materialised in a burst of amber incandescence above him, striking Spyro along his spine with armour-plated boots. The purple drake collapsed to the ground under the weight, pain mixed with heightened bliss as the warping power of Convexity was harshly yanked from his being, the energy crackling along his body dwindling. As rapidly as he appeared, Dyan vanished, moving into the centre of the clearing. Spyro's limbs felt strained and wounded, and despite his best efforts he could do nothing to move them as pain struck his body like a thunderbolt, sending his vision red. Anareta was likewise incapacitated, blood still trickling from the wound in her flank, the metal halberd remaining embedded in her flesh. A rebellious snarl painted her snout as Dyan gazed upon the two fallen dragons, his golden eyes unreadable, but the indignation lasted only a moment before her head fell to the ground in defeat, eyes clenched shut in pain.

"I thought…" she muttered, just barely audible to the purple dragon. "That maybe…if I had you…"

"You were incorrect," Dyan answered, halting her speech.

Spyro growled. "So…what now? You kill us?"

Dyan seemed to chuckle, as though the question was a kind of joke. "No, I have no intention of killing you. Not now, not yet. All you needed to know of was my presence. That alone is enough, for now."

Anareta's eyes widened in shock. "You…_counted_ on this…"

Dyan's hood dipped forward, nodding in confirmation. "Quite perceptive, young Anareta." His eyes turned towards Spyro, glistening with an emotion the purple drake couldn't identify. Nevertheless, a shiver of fear ran down his length, staring at those alien, reptilian, pupil-less eyes. "The purple dragon is now aware of my existence. Let him flee back to his Guardians. They shall tell you more."

A cry of anger split the monotony, and Dyan barely had time to crouch as a glob of glowing venom rocketed from the foliage and flew through the air where his head had just been, impacting the snow with a sizzling _hiss_. A jet-scaled figure leapt into the clearing, magenta wings wide in threat, striking at Dyan only for the orange-robed figure to backpedal swiftly, narrowly avoiding a pair of envenomed wing blades tracing a neon green arc through the space he had been occupying. Anareta and Spyro watched, mouths agape, as the Terror of the Skies faced her opponent with narrowed, turquoise eyes and bared fangs. They cried in unison.

"Cynder!"

The dragoness spared no time for pleasantries, launching another fury of strikes at Dyan with glowing green talons. Each blow was blocked by Dyan, his armour serving him well, but despite striking outward with a plated leg Cynder simply swerved to the side and pirouetted gracefully, swinging her tail blade in a wide sweep that forced Dyan to retreat once more.

"That's more like it!" Sparx's voice burst into life, the glowing dragonfly emerging from the safety of the foliage as Cynder struck. "Show Mr Hoodie who's boss!"

"Sparx!" Spyro greeted, his voice joyful, if strained. "You're safe!"

"Of course I am, buddy!" The dragonfly replied, hovering over to his brother's side. "You don't think a little fire could stop me, do you?"

Cynder's advantage would not last. As she cracked open her jaws and unleashed a powerful gust of wind, the harsh gale whipping through Dyan's coat, the humanoid struck out his arms and two heated, arm-length blades of orange materialised in his hands, humming and flickering with tongues of fire. Like a dancer he jumped forward, swinging both blades in unison, red arches cutting through the air towards Cynder, and the black dragoness was forced to duck and run to escape the onslaught. The ballet continued for several moments, Cynder continually retreating as the blades swung millimetres away from her flesh. Finally, the dragoness ducked low to avoid another sweep of the twin blades, and launched an uppercut with her wing blades, coating her body in a thick sheet of swirling air. She flew under Dyan's arms, dodging the rapidly-spinning swords of plasma, and the gust of wind she kicked up sent the biped hurtling backwards. Dyan halted himself by skidding along the snowy ground, metal-lined boots scraping against the tough ground underneath.

The two combatants stood on opposite sides of the clearing, glaring. Sparks seemed to fly between them, and for a split-second a flash of recognition passed by Cynder's expression.

"Cynder," Dyan stated, his voice booming despite its even tone. "A pleasure to meet you."

Cynder snarled, refusing to lower her guard. "I'd reply in turn, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't met you already."

Gasps of shock ran through those gathered, of whom Anareta and Spyro were still stuck to the ground. "Cynder?" Spyro began, his voice cracking. "You know him?"

"Vaguely," she replied, her voice threatening. "I don't know who he is, or what he is, but I've met him, yes."

"Right," Sparx began, his voice unenthusiastic. "Of course she knows him. Why didn't we see this coming?"

Dyan chuckled, straightening his back, appearing all too calm for the situation. "A pleasant reunion, yes, but I'm afraid I've wasted what little time I have," he began, banishing his blades of flame. "I'll leave it to you, Cynder, to ensure your friends are safe."

Before the dragoness could do anything, Dyan's robe ignited in a flash, the flames licking away at armour, cloth and leather all, and after a moment of writhing flames dancing in the snow, they vanished as rapidly as they appeared, taking Dyan with it. All that was left of the armoured humanoid was a melted spot in the snow covered in damp water, the ground beneath charred black by the heat.

Spyro grunted in surprise, and Cynder dashed over to his side, her face contorted in fear. "Spyro! Are you alright?"

As she placed a wing over him, pulling the purple drake to his feet, he nodded his head and grimaced in pain. "I'm fine," he began, clutching his jaw and rubbing it gently. "But Anareta's doing worse. We need to help her."

Cynder's eyes darted over to the Vulcan dragoness, and her brow furrowed in worry. The halberd was still embedded in her flank, but as the jet dragoness approached the polearm vanished in a calm flicker of orange-red plasma, leaving a gaping, jagged puncture in her flank that continued to bleed profusely. She hissed in pain, her paws clutching the wound hesitantly in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.

"That…looks nasty," Sparx commented, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Dear ancestors," Cynder whispered. "We need to get her back to the airships."

Spyro's only response was a simple nod as he and Cynder gently pulled Anareta up onto their backs, juggling her weight between them. But although the worry coursing through his veins was real, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of a man in an orange robe, piercing golden eyes glaring at him from under a shadowed hood.


End file.
